Whispers 1b: Whisper
by scribblemyname
Summary: There's something different about the way he whispers. Romy
1. Whisper

A/N: I had a bit of writer's block (read in there, huge 10x20 block) after turning in my latest chapter to my beta and only making it halfway through four others. So I decided to do something different and offer a little wish fulfillment to one of my fav reviewers and main girl, ChamberlinofMusic. She asked me a while back to expand _Whispers_, and at the time, I said, No way. I have way too much else on my plate. Staring at the screen blankly for days on end changed my mind. I figured I wasn't being productive on the else anyway, so dove on in. Please enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Whisper**

* * *

Remy Etienne LeBeau's voice is unique among the flat Midwestern accents and New York twangs or even occasional Scottish brogue that Rogue hears around the mansion where she lives with all the other students at Xavier's School for the Gifted. She's rounding the bend in a hallway when she hears it again, stops, and just listens to the smooth, rich sound of his low, husky Cajun patois.

"An' what would y' be knowin' about dat, petite?" he asks someone, probably a girl. "Now, I'd be more dan willin' t' teach y'."

Rogue can almost see the appreciative glow of his red on black eyes in her mental vision, and she rolls her eyes before continuing around the corner.

The flashy Dazzler is smiling dreamily up at Remy's tall, lean, and muscled form leaning against the wall, and his expression is almost exactly what Rogue thought it would be as he eyes down the girl's figure. He's wearing the same long, brown trench coat he always does and brown gloves with several of the fingers cut off. His tousled auburn hair brushes his shoulders, and the scarlet irises ringing the black of his eyes look positively devilish in his long, angular, and altogether too handsome face.

He glances up as she passes by them. She catches a whiff of his spicy, cigarette scent, mixed with other things she can't quite name and the overwhelming flowery aroma of Dazzler's perfume. She doesn't look back or pay attention to any more of his flirtatious banter with their fellow teacher.

She just lets his rumbling, smooth voice roll over her into an indecipherable if pleasant sound.

* * *

"Bonjour, chèrie."

His voice is right behind her, whispering in her ear, and Rogue nearly jumps a foot, banging her head against the freezer door, dropping the milk, and cursing loudly when she pulls out of the refrigerator.

"Remy LeBeau, don't you ever scare me like that again!"

She whirls on him, but he merely chuckles as she suddenly realizes that turning around might not have been a good idea. She is a mere breath away from him, her skin suddenly coming alive with the awareness that any movement at all and she'll be touching him, chest to chest, body to body.

She shoves him back and Remy laughs aloud.

But then he leans in close and whispers warmly, intimately, "T'es belle, chère." He smirks and saunters out of the kitchen, shuffling a deck of cards as he goes.

And she realizes his whispers are even nicer than his normal speaking voice.

* * *

"Y' t'ink he'll ever shut up and let us play?" Remy whispers behind Rogue, close to her ear.

She suppresses a shiver. "You shut up," she snaps, crossing her arms.

The soft chuckle behind her and the gentle slapping sounds of the cards sliding through his fingers assure her that he doesn't take it seriously.

Rogue, Remy, Jubilee, Sam, and Lorna are patiently—or not so patiently—waiting for Logan to finish his lecture on their last training session so they can get on to this one. The Danger Room training is generally fun, especially with Logan, especially when no one blew it the time before.

"Hey, Remy." Jubilee grins at him but speaks softly. "Think you can hurry him up a bit?"

"Sure t'ing, petite," he says back in a low, rumble, smirking and making his cards vanish in some sleight of hand. He whispers to Rogue as he steps past her, "Watch dis."

Remy is the only one brave enough to take on Logan and he does just that, simply launching into action and thus beginning the most grueling session the Wolverine has ever put their team through.

"Ah'm killin' ya later, ya swamp rat!" she shouts at his smirking face.

* * *

She's starting to notice something.

From the first time that Rogue saw Remy walking around the mansion, he was flirting, arrogant, cocky, always at a volume that anyone handy could hear. His eyes glowed brilliant scarlet, heady and mesmerizing, whenever he turned them on a notable specimen of the opposite sex (some would argue any specimen would do).

But he's never whispered.

There's something different in the sound. Something that makes her stop and notice for once. Something urgent and full and somehow more serious.

He doesn't whisper to the other girls. Only to her.

And that scares her.

* * *

Nighttime is playtime as far as both students and teachers at the school are concerned. Ororo Munroe, headmistress, takes the time to relax in her garden or attic, and pleasant winds embrace the corners of the mansion. Logan stalks off into the garage for some beer or goes out for some alone time, _where_ nobody asks. Hank McCoy settles into his favorite comfortable chair in the library or the media room, wherever the teachers and not the students are, and catches up on his reading of the classics of literature or science. Dazzler takes off for parts unknown. Moira McTaggert holes up in her room and runs up the long distance phone bill. The junior staff usually congregate together: Bobby Drake, Jubilation Lee, Kitty Pryde, Piotr Rasputin, Remy LeBeau, Lorna Dane, Sam Guthrie, and Rogue.

With all the events at Alcatraz, rabid mutant hatred soared and so did the enrollment records at Xavier's School for the Gifted. Naturally, Ororo immediately sought to fill the teacher rolls as well, both recruiting from outside and persuading graduates to stay on.

Tonight, the junior staff and Hank are in the media room, television running some favorite program of Kit and Jubilee's, with at least a boy or two trying to steal the remote from them.

_They should know better_, Rogue thinks. Jubilee and Kitty can hold their own against anyone when it comes to their favorite show and manage it nicely without pausing once from their enjoyment.

She is curled up on the other couch with a new fat novel she's been waiting ages to read, denying herself until she can finish grading the slew of term papers her English students turned in. Bobby settles down next to her and tucks one arm over her shoulders. She leans against him and continues reading.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Remy leaning studiously over some papers on the coffee table, red pen in hand. Rogue doesn't often see his serious side, but she likes it, the way his head is bent down, the hair falling roguishly across his forehead and into his eyes, the way his scruffiness looks like something accidental, forgotten rather than foregone, and he seems so thoughtful. He must feel her staring, because he glances up at her, catching her gaze with those intense, heated red eyes burning into her. But the moment is brief. He is grading papers again.

Her gaze drops hard to the book in her hand and she feels heat under her skin. She's blushing, she realizes with horror. She looks at Bobby, wondering how she can blush at Remy when tucked under her boyfriend's arm. But he's not looking at her. He's looking at... She follows his gaze.

Kitty.

Rubbing Rogue's back, looking at Kitty.

She stares at him, brushes one hand against his chin, looking wistfully into his blue eyes as he smiles down at her. And she wonders when she lost his interest. Was it before or after he found out he could touch her skin?

Rogue drops her hand and gaze back to the book, pretending that nothing has changed within her. Even if it has. Even if she remembers that moment in the night when Bobby kissed Kitty, and the petite phaser didn't push him away, not until it sank into her just what they had done. Even if the only thing that Rogue remembers about his first gift to her, a perfect rose, is that it was as cold as ice and how fitting that is.

Her heart feels as cold as his ice.

* * *

She regrets the Cure. Up until this moment, she has exulted in the freedom to touch without fabric to slip in between the skin. She's reveled in the heat of skin, the brush of another's smooth cheek against hers when she embraces a friend, and the quietness in her head.

Now, she regrets it all.

* * *

Remy's whispering to her as she plays poker against Jubilee and Piotr, giving her tips while she tells him, grinning, to shut his trap. The girls and guys have gathered around and even Logan's having fun throwing in the chips at another table. They've brought in the coffee table out of someone's study to go along with the one in the media room and utilized one of the ottomans to make three tables and three games. Spectators lean over shoulders, closer even than Remy's leaning against her. Even Ororo herself is raking in the chips.

Kitty laughs. "You are _so_ subbing for me in biology Monday, Sam."

It's a happy crowd and Rogue is never so conscious of her ability to touch as when she's a part of it and the crowd mingles freely against her as they drink their soda and eat their chips on the teacher's Friday night in.

"Bluff, chère. Y' can take dis one," he urges her in that soft, low sound that barely breathes across her ear.

She's blushing again. She can feel it. She throws more chips on the pile with a flashing grin as Jubilee eyes her own hand while biting on a lip.

That's when Rogue feels something else. Remy's hand trails slowly from her neck down to the small of her back, lighting a path of fire as it does.

She tries desperately not to hold in her breath, to keep it even, lest Jubilee know she's bluffing. She wants to curse Remy and she wants to beg him to do it again.

Jubilee folds. Piotr eyes Rogue suspiciously.

Remy's hand is resting at her waist and she's certain he's smirking at her opponents. Dazzler's reading Piotr's cards with a blank face.

The Russian sighs and lays down his cards. "Fold."

"Told y'," he whispers in his Cajun patois.

Rogue smiles coyly and rakes in the chips. "Again?"

She doesn't regret the Cure.

* * *

The mansion would be so much better than this.

Rogue presses into a corner of the club, away from the pressing crowd of stranger's bodies and the humming thrum of the music and the pulse of the dancers and the chatter of people eating in the booths and the shrewd gazes of the pool players.

She feels a body slide up behind her and her heart clenches until she recognizes the warm, rich voice that's whispering in her ear. "Y' okay, chère?"

"Ah'm fahne," she says, a tad too loud. She winces.

"Of course, y' are," he purrs. "Course, y' are." His hands are soothing on her, rubbing chaste, comforting circles on her back.

The touch kindles a warm glow in the pit of her stomach and she catches her breath. He murmurs softly, in English, in French. She lets her eyes fall mostly shut so she can just listen to him whisper.


	2. Glance

**dangerouscutestuff** (Expect 100 chapters of Romy goodness! Just at a significantly slower rate than the drabbles. One takes fifteen mintues to write. The other takes two to five hours.), **bri419** (see prev. note. Bobby will be going, don't worry. :reassuring pat on the shoulder:), **lady555 **(Thank you!), **Irual **(Cookies! I love the cookies, sweetie. And SIX! This is definitely my birthday week. Ah, subtletly. Better forewarn you that it's a dangerous mindset to have. Sometimes, I'm _too_ subtle. But the trick to it is surprisingly easy. Two steps: 1. LITERALLY, delete _every_ single word that does not add new information to your tale (then add a few back in on the rewrite for normal people. LOL). 2. Show. DO NOT TELL. Never say, somehow knew, unless your character is in denial about the how. State how. Don't state emotion words, EVER. Show what the character DOES because of them. Adds a nice dose of mystery to boot. (Note: like rule #1, soften and edit back in some clarity for the normal folks. They'll like you better. :grins:)), **coup fatal** (I very much like life, so here it is. :grins: I LOVE your reviews.),

**sofimac16 **(For previews, I recommend reading _Whispers_, a series of 100 drabbles that this story is based upon.), **pennylane87 **(Love ya, girl! You make my heart so warm and happy. I hope it continues to please.), **ChamberlinofMusic** (:beams: I get confetti. You're the best, my girl. I'm glad you like it and I hope it continues to measure up to expectations.), **cy** (Remy is AWESOME. Makes my job so easy.), **Anonymous **(you take my breath away. thank you.), **angelwingz21** (Continued!), **AshmandaLC** (Ooooooooh! I _like_ that reaction. Glad you liked it and hope to keep a similar feel throughout a lot of this. Keep giving me a report card, please.), **Seren McGowan** (Hopefully I can live up to perfection. But I have a big smile as I plan to try!), **Fostersb** (I'm doing them all. I just can't resist the challenge.), **missunderstood** (:virtual hugs:), **bologna121** (Your lack of description certainly warmed my heart as thoroughly as any description could have.), **Valentine'sNinja** (Ongoing, keep going, and keep writing more Romys! That's my plan. If you ever need to knock me upside the virtual head over accent issues, feel free. I edit quickly.), **Laceylou76 **(I'm so glad! You make me happy, happy, happy!)

Thanks to you all! Please enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Glance**

* * *

The first time Rogue met Remy LeBeau, he did not make a good impression. He arrived the month before the school year started, when many were still reeling from the events of Alcatraz.

She was storming down the hall with Jubilee as they both dissected her argument with Bobby and lambasted him into the nether regions of every inhospitable location they could think of (Hell was merely the beginning) for daring to flirt with another girl (Lorna Dane) with Rogue still in the room, though it was safe to say said lambasting would have been significantly worse if Rogue hadn't been in the room at the time.

"Ya know what his excuse was?" Rogue snipped. "'Ah was just tryin' to make her feel comfortable an' welcomed on her first day.'"

"He is so totally—Whoa!" Jubilee stopped stock still at the top of the stairs and gaped.

Rogue obligingly looked over to see what had interrupted her friend's vitriolic train of thought.

Jubilee said emphatically, "He is hot!"

"He" was leaning against the banister at the foot of the stairs, grinning cockily, shuffling cards in masterful formations without a glance, apparently saving all of his visual attention for eyeing up a flustered Kitty in the most indecent fashion imaginable. Roughly cut auburn hair fell around his face to brush his shoulders. His eyes glowed red on a black sclera in his lean, angular face and the sharp, handsome features. He was tall, clearly well-muscled beneath his black tee, broad shoulders, trim hips. A brown trench coat hung on his lean frame.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Looks lahke another man-whore. Ah'm not interested."

"Um. Yeah. Right." Jubilee attempted a recovery and snapped her mouth shut, gaze still planted firmly on the handsome newcomer. "Definitely not interested."

At that moment, he chose to glance upward toward them. He paused, almost frozen for a second, as intense, burning red eyes met Rogue's indifferent stare. The faintest hint of surprise flickered in the scarlet irises, and for a moment, the glow dimmed into the black. But then, he was looking back at Kitty throwing her another suggestive comment and getting ready to get a mouthful back if Rogue wasn't mistaken.

"Flirt," she muttered and turned back the way she had come.

The first time Rogue met Remy LeBeau, he did not make a good impression.

She wonders when that changed.

* * *

After that she saw him everywhere.

He was introduced as the son of an old friend of Ororo's and the new French, geography, and shop class teacher. He made fast friends with Piotr and Sam and managed to constantly hang around where Rogue could see him, meet him, and he could flirt up the female population of the mansion, much to Rogue's disgust.

He never laid on her the thick charm he lavished all the other girls with, but whenever she walked into a room he was in, he would stop whatever he was doing for just an instant and glance at her before returning to whatever he was doing before.

She couldn't ignore it. The look in his eyes in that moment was so much more potent than anything she saw when he eyed up another woman, no matter how appreciative his compliments.

She pretended not to notice.

* * *

Rogue hated crowds. She wasn't sure how Jubilee, Kitty, and Lorna had talked her into going to the crowded little night club, packed wall to wall with a sea of dancing, drinking, cavorting strangers showing off too much skin.

She lost hold and sight of her girlfriends all too quickly and was left turning this way and that to see someone familiar. Rogue wrapped her arms around herself in a tight embrace.

A bit of auburn hair, a brown trench coat...

Was that?

She darted forward but after a few moments of searching, she gave up, realizing she didn't recognize anyone here. Where _were_ her friends?

A tall man leaning against the bar, laughing at some ditzy blonde in a low-cut top caught her eye. He seemed vaguely familiar. She studied him for a moment, and something jolted inside her. Even at this odd glimpsing angle, he was handsome, very handsome.

Rogue felt herself blushing and turned away, then wheeled back around just as quickly.

She stared at the figure at the bar, suddenly startled when she realized _why_ he was so familiar. He looked at her then, drew his head up from the blonde, and glanced her way. Scarlet eyes glowing with a burning, pulsating hue met hers, capturing her in his gaze. Something like defiance, resentment, and something else she didn't want to name, something that called to her, poured through the heady irises ringing the black.

The moment was brief, too brief, and Remy had dropped his attention back to the blonde at his side, his all too cocky, suggestive smile back in place. He leaned in and...

Rogue turned away. She didn't want to see. And she certainly didn't want to analyze the heated fire in her cheeks. Or the burning glow in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

"Whah do ya ignore me?" she asked him once.

Remy looked at her with surprise. "What do y' mean, chère?" Genuine curiosity colored his tone, and his rich Cajun accent swirled around her, doing funny things in her gut.

Rogue shrugged, pretending nonchalance as she buttered her toast for an afternoon snack. "Ya don't flirt with me. Ah'm just surprised is all."

What she wasn't saying is that it hurt in a small, stinging way that he was _so_ appreciative of every woman, mutant or human. The only one he didn't notice, didn't flatter, didn't make passes at was her. Even if every time he looked at her, something intimate and tangible flared across the distance between.

Remy's eyes darkened then, his smile faded into a serious, frighteningly intent look on his face. He leaned nearer, and she took a step back.

"Y' sure y' want t' know, chère?" A faint warning underlay his tone.

"Ah have a boyfriend, ya know," Rogue said haughtily, backing up another step and grinding her hips into the counter's edge. Why had she even brought it up? she wondered.

One side of Remy's mouth slid into a cocky smirk, and he practically purred his reply, "Dere is dat. An' Stormy did tell me t' stay away from des filles wit' boyfriends." The smirk edged into something broader.

She tossed her head, clearing away an irritating strand of white hair that liked to fall in her eyes. "And is that whah?" she demanded, voice even.

She had forgotten there was nowhere to go with the counter at her back until his head dipped down close to hers and he was breathing softly, hotly on her ear in a bare whisper, sending a tremor through her entire body with a single word.

"Non."

* * *

Rogue slips into the kitchen for breakfast the morning after her encounter with Remy in the night club. She isn't sure how to handle it, the fact that he was there for her and Bobby wasn't, that Bobby was dancing and Remy was curled up behind her, whispering to her and rubbing her back soothingly. She shakes her head to clear it and considers breakfast. To her surprise, she isn't the only one who decided to come down early. Remy is there ahead of her, frying up some sort of spicy-smelling dish and talking to another early bird, Sam.

Three southerners.

She drops into one of the barstools at the counter with a sigh.

Remy glances up sharply, catching her gaze with his burning eyes. He drops his attention back to the stove.

"Homme, y' jus' got to work up a little spunk," he says to Sam. "Ask her out already. She likes y' as much as y' like her."

"I don't know," Sam replies moodily.

Remy shakes his head and reaches over to turn off the stove.

Rogue wonders why he always _does_ that.

* * *

He keeps glancing at her.

Doesn't matter who he's talking to, what he's doing, whose number he's accepting written in ink or lipstick on what body part.

Never mind that her heart stops beating for that brief instant where his attention is fixed on her. Never mind that if he gave her some of the lewd looks he reserves for the other girls, she'd probably slap him hard and storm away. Never mind that she has her own boyfriend, for crying out loud.

He keeps right on glancing.

How is she supposed to formally protest such a small, if intimate, gesture?

She can't.

* * *

A/N: If you haven't yet voted in the poll, please be really, really sweet and vote in the poll at the top of my profile. I need to break the tie.


	3. Touch

**AshmandaLC** (He is secretive, isn't he? But even though he doesn't flirt much with her, I think it's because he's actually serious about her, and she isn't the kind of girl that would like to be actually _involved_ and hit on. I'm glad you're enjoying. Hope it continues to please.), **coup fatal** (This any better?), **LadyMageLuna** (Thank you!), **Anna Marcia Gregorio** (You are so sweet. I tried to keep the poetic feel from the drabbles when I wrote them out.), **dangerouscutestuff** (More is here!), **RogueOnFire** (Um...:coughs with embarrassment: I actually use those kinds of words _all_ the time, especially in my normal, everyday life. :sheepish shrug: Sorry. But I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. Trade secrets must be given away, or the only good stuff to read will be your own!), **pennylane87** (You thrill me to my toes. And yes, jealous is the word. LOL), **ElizaV **(You pegged it.), **starlight2twilight** (Love the review!), **ChamberlinofMusic** (Re-reads are good! Hopefully, the tension will remain high. It certainly is a blast to write.), **bologna121** (More encounters! And thanks much.), **DreamSprite** (I'm glad!), **Fostersb** (Oh, goody! Someone told me to do the dozen on/off like the original.), **Laceylou76** (You flatter me. :blushing: Well, here's the more. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long.), **Irual **(My cookie queen! Love the cookies. I happen to like cayenne. And I'm glad it's fresh, because it really _is_ practically already written for me in the drabbles. LOL), **bri419** (Love the way you put that. He doesn't flirt. He pays attention. Mmm...)

Now, in honor of **PlonkerOnDaLoose** and our mutual relationship in promoting the Kyro pairing, please do visit the Save the Kyro forum, available from my profile, and/or fanfiction . net/~Kyroaddictsannonymous. We're doing a round robin fic and recruiting writers. :grins:

* * *

**Chapter 3: Touch**

* * *

It started so innocently.

Rogue is in the gym, putting the finishing touches on her tables for their Thanksgiving Harvest Festival. She's decorated them herself without assistance. She selected and purchased the golden tablecloths, embroidered the fiery autumn leaves around the edges, scattered real leaves across the tops, designed the cornucopias with their overflowing nuts and squashes and turkey feathers. She picked the silverware, finer than the everyday ware they serve the students generally. She spent hours plotting the layout for the dishes, planning the seating arrangement, and making placecards.

She sighs with satisfaction and steps back to take a look at her work.

A hand brushes gently against her shoulder, and she turns to see who wants her.

It's Remy.

For some reason, his hand hasn't really moved yet. A small smile quirks at his mouth, and his fingers come away with a red maple leaf that was caught in her hair.

"Y' really get involved in your work, chère," he says lightly, a slight flirtatiousness in the words that starts her heart beating a little faster.

"Yeah." She brushes herself off, feeling awkward as other little bits of feather and leaves fall to the floor. "Did you want something?"

His eyes burn brighter for a moment, but he shakes his head and jerks a thumb toward the door. "'Ro wants y'."

"Oh." Rogue blows out a breath. "Thanks."

She heads in Ororo's direction. The weather goddess and school headmistress smiles at her approach. Rogue takes one last glance over her shoulder.

Remy's still holding the maple leaf. She can't decipher his expression.

* * *

The actual day of the Harvest Festival is busy, hectic, and chaotic. It seems all of the two hundred and seventy-eight students are crowded into the gym, along with those whose families would come. There's laughter, talking, dancing to the music before dinner will be served.

Rogue smooths her dress nervously. She's wearing a simple green sheath, but it leaves her arms, legs, and shoulders bare. It's the first time since she's gotten the Cure that she has shown off so much skin in a crowded environment. She rubs her arms with her hands, hugging herself as she looks out her friends in the milling, seething, happy mob.

She catches a glimpse of Jubilee laughing at something Sam says, dark eyes sparkling over her crystal punch glass. Dazzler's trying to talk an immovable Piotr into changing the music from the upbeat classical probably to something more jazzy. Kitty's hanging on Lorna's arm as they drool over the passing guys.

Bobby is nowhere in sight.

Rogue was ticked when he said he had to catch up on a few things before he would come down, but his sense of responsibility as a teacher won out. He is off working on something or other for his class, and she is standing here, near a wall all alone with no one to dance with or show off her hard labor to.

A covered arm brushes against hers as someone slips by her, pressed up against her by the mingling bodies around them. She opens her mouth to excuse herself but stops abruptly when she sees who it is.

"Désolé, chèrie," Remy rumbles to her softly, then proceeds to continue on into the gym. He goes over to one of her tables and pours himself a cup of punch. He tastes it, turns back toward her, and winks.

Rogue drops her gaze to the floor. She's blushing again.

She curses.

She can still feel the heat of him on her arm.

* * *

Logan runs them hard in the Danger Room. He tells them they can't afford to slack off. Rogue believes he really means, There won't be another Alcatraz.

She's teamed up with Sam and Kitty against Remy, Jubilee, and Bobby in the middle of a virtual battlefield, complete with mutant-hunting robots, innocent bystanders, and law enforcement with Cure guns to use on any person they perceive as a threat.

Rogue's in a tussle with Jubilee and winning when she suddenly finds herself yanked off of the smaller girl and all too incredibly close to the armored chest and hot breath and swirling trench coat and glowing charge and burning eyes of Remy LeBeau. Her head knocks into his with the momentum, and for just a second, it's skin on skin and feeling his stubble and sweat. She scrambles away, but she's too late.

Her clothes are charged, glowing brighter and hotter with the pink glow of his powers.

He smirks down at her as she stares in horror. "Désolé, ma chère, but y're dead."

Rogue crosses her arms. "Uncharge me already."

Remy slides his fingers across the shoulder of her leather uniform. She can feel the heat of his hand through the material, but she forces herself to roll her eyes.

The glow begins to fade.

He hands her a card and vanishes around the corner to fight someone who's still standing.

It's the Queen of Hearts.

Rogue stares at it for a moment, then tosses it aside. She leans down to brush herself off before going to the side of the room to wait with her "fallen" comrades. She hopes nobody sees her face.

And she thought it was all innocent.

* * *

Jubilee, Kitty, Lorna, and Rogue all gather together in Lorna's room with their sleeping bags, funny romance movies, and favorite munchies.

"Hershey's kisses?" Rogue demands as she commandeers the best seat, in front of Lorna's bed, and tosses her sleeping bag on the ground along with a copy of _While You Were Sleeping_.

Jubilee grins, sitting beside her, and adds _Sleepless in Seattle _to the pile. "Check. Potato chips?"

"Check." Lorna snuggles into the pillows atop the bed and proffers _You've Got Mail_.

"Cheese dip, anybody?" Kitty surveys the supplies, hands on hips.

"Check." Rogue holds it up so Kitty can see it.

The phaser nods and then grabs her stuff to find a spot to sit. "You've all taken the good seats!" she huffs, then with a wicked grin, phases herself into a comfortable seat between Rogue and Jubilee. "I brought _The Princess Bride_."

"Hold there!" Jubilee raises a hand. "Who brought the soda?"

Kitty points at the bag by the movies. "_Check_."

Lorna raises her nose in the air as if testing it. "I vote _The Princess Bride_."

"Ah feel lahke _Whahle Ya Were Sleepin',_" Rogue says. "But first Ah wanted ta ask y'all about somethin'."

"Oooooooh! What's up?" Jubilee bounces a little atop her pillow.

Kitty and Lorna both look eager.

Rogue bites her lip, suddenly unsure if she _should_ ask. "Well, is it just me, or...do y'all think Remy lahkes me?"

All four girls are silent for a long moment.

Finally, Lorna pipes up, "We've noticed. We just weren't sure if you were okay with it. You know..." She shrugs. "Bobby."

Kitty nods. "It's hard to miss, girl."

That's exactly what she's afraid of.

* * *

The kitchen has lately become a dangerous place for Rogue to be. She's had several "encounters" there that she can neither brush off nor prove to anyone else.

But when she's thirsty, she's thirsty.

Everyone's outside, enjoying a bit of Indian summer with a game of football. Rogue sneaks quietly into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator door. She smiles upon seeing the cool jug of milk waiting for her. Just as she reaches for it, she feels the faintest touch on her shoulder, sliding forward down the curve to rest in the bend of her elbow for an instant. The feeling is familiar, lightly static, like the charge of Remy's power.

Rogue turns to catch the interloper.

The kitchen is empty, but for her, the open refrigerator, and the jug of milk in her hand. The faint scent of cigarettes, spices, and bourbon remains behind.

She shivers.

* * *

As autumn progresses, Rogue and Bobby are drifting farther and farther apart. Both of them know it. They do everything separately that once they did together. Even grading papers or planning classes.

Rogue sighs deeply as she settles into her favorite table at the library to plot out next quarter's research assignment for English. She doesn't pay much attention to the others around the table, just buries her nose in the textbooks and legal pads she brought with her.

After a while, she admits to herself that this isn't going well. She's too preoccupied, distracted by the shambles of her relationship, by the fact that she's still in it.

She blows out a sigh and a thick strand of white hair flies up into her eyes. She giggles. Someone else chuckles with her, a deep, rich sound, and she looks up, thoroughly startled to realize that she chose a table with Remy. He's leaning back in his chair just a little over from being across from her and fixing her with an amused smirk beneath his dancing red on black eyes.

"Hah," she says softly.

They are both quiet, but his eyes remain on hers. She doesn't know why the brilliant crimson fire has dimmed into the black, blended into a softer hue. She only knows that she feels all too warm and uncomfortable under his gaze.

She shifts in her seat and glances over the books and scattered papers in front of him. Clearly, he is also planning classes, though from the looks of the maps and travel guides, his is geography.

He's still looking at her.

Rogue brushes back her hair and makes an attempt to straighten it a little. "Ah'm a mess," she says apologetically.

Remy leans forward suddenly, startling her into silence as he captures her hand with his own.

She stops breathing.

He brushes a light kiss across the back of her knuckles and whispers, "You're belle."

She stares at him.

He meets her shocked gaze with smoldering, burning eyes that nearly drown her. He releases her hand. It still feels hot to her, very hot.

"Did y' know dat Australia was once a penal colony?" he asks, giving her a casual glance and flipping through a page in his notes.

"No," she breathes. "Ah didn't."

* * *

Whatever is going on between her and Remy is becoming much more real and solid. She's not the only one who's noticed.

Her hair issues apparently weren't the problem of a single day and then gone away. It continues to be nearly unmanageable, falling down from any kind of restraint she manages to get it into. Rogue is getting ready to go into her Danger Room session when she simply yells in frustration as it falls down yet again from her makeshift ponytail.

"Get it together, Rogue," Logan calls to her from across the room.

Bobby glances toward her, but then continues gearing up on his own.

She mutters unmentionables and yanks the hair back from her face.

She feels a light tug and catches her breath as a warm and spicy cigarette smell washes over her. Remy's fingers gently pull the hair away from her and takes her scrunci from her other hand. Slowly, his hands work over her hair and gently pull it up into a tight ponytail. He brushes the top back lightly like she would have done for herself.

Rogue turns around to face him, nervous, uncertain. Remy's eyes glow appreciatively.

"Uh...Thanks." She twists her fingers together.

He leans over and whispers against her, his breath warm and soft on her cheek. "Y're welcome." Then he whirls and enters the Danger Room, cards at the ready.

Rogue bites her lip and seeks out Bobby with her eyes. He's frowning at her.

But she simply can't feel guilty.

She just can't.


	4. Charge

**A Rose in the Night** (Thank you. I just had to include accents in this one. It just so fit.), **dangerouscutestuff** (More is here! And another chapter this month, I think.), **RonWeasley1975** (Next chapter. Promise. Bobby dumped.), **onyxred** (Thank you for the compliments. :blushing: I'm trying to stay true to the drabbles while still branching out a little. And more coming soon.), **Seren McGowan** (Thank you. I hope it continues to be good for you.), **water raven** (Bobby gone next chappie.), **pennylane87** (I think you might be psychic. :nods solemnly: Remy can make anything work in a pinch. :winks:), **CurrentlyIncognito** (This one isn't quite as peaceful, but the title should say it all.), **Randirogue** (More is here! And for the record, I'm amazed that _you_ are reviewing _me_. You're a mini-legend around here. Thanks.), **cajunette** (Bigger updates? I suppose. The little drabbles I can whip out, but this _is_ a bigger update for me. But most of all, I'm just glad you're loving them. I like the way you described "Touch," how Remy's training Rogue in touching. I like that. I'm going to work with that a bit, I think.), **Laceylou76** (I'll try to save all the best stuff from the drabbles, as I'm really just trying to write out the drabbles fully. Well...I skipped a teeny bit in this one. It wanted to come out like this, so... :shrugs: And **warning**: this fic will go to an M around chapter 11.), **AshmandaLC** (Bobby really isn't doing so good in this fic, and it's about to get worse. :sighs: I'm glad Remy's around and I think Rogue is too.), **bologna121** (You're the best. I had fun writing that last scene.), **Red Shagging Couch** (Well, that's amazing. I work hard on the characterization and I'm not always satisfied, so thanks for the vote of confidence.), **ChamberlinofMusic** (Remy does have the allure. And I used your description a teeny bit at the end of this chapter. Hope you like! :winks:), **Irual** (I can't think of anyone who wouldn't be jealous of the girl, but those that are happily with someone else. I'm glad you liked the fall setting. It was my favorite part, to be honest. And the sleepover was just necessary. When you're first dealing with realizing something romantic might be happening, even just a crush, you always talk to your girlfriends! Has to happen. um...if you're a girl. Glad you found the advice useful. Writing is mostly a find your own way kind of thing, but pointers and endless amounts of reading are a must. And thanks for all the goodies! I'm enjoying.), **ElizaV** (I know. Practical and sweet is better than mushy and sweet. Of course, Remy can pull off either.), **Bloodypassion** (I hope the story continues to please. I try.), **coup fatal** (Perfect? I got a perfect? From you? :squeals and dancing on the clouds:), **Fostersb** (LOL Remy can inspire guiltlessness, I guess. And I think it's important to demonstrate that Rogue can come out of her shell and live a little. A shy little thing doesn't hold much to the Rogue I know and love.), **gambitfan85** (Definitely an upgrade!), **bri419** (Remy has a way of getting people's attention. :smirks:), **LadyMageLuna** (They are sweet, aren't they? Love Romy.)

* * *

**Chapter 4: Charge**

* * *

Piotr, Bobby, Sam, and Logan are engaged in a friendly card game in the media room on Saturday afternoon. Rogue has sprawled across the couch on her stomach, engrossed in last Sunday's comics, casually eating popcorn out of the bowl on Lorna's lap as the magnetic mistress enjoys her movie. The other girls are out shopping or keeping an eye on the overflow of students. Hank was puttering around in the lab last time someone checked. Remy is leaning against the wall, flipping cards through his fingers, having turned down an invite to join the game.

"So where you taking Kitty on your date?" Logan asks Piotr with a wink.

The Russian blushes when the table's attention turns toward him. "I haven't decided yet," he admits, a little sheepish. "I thought I might ask Rogue—as Kitty's friend," he adds, catching Bobby's look.

Rogue looks up from the comics at that. Remy's cards stop slapping together at the same moment as he looks up as well. Their gazes catch and Rogue forgets what she was going to say, lost in the brightening of crimson.

Bobby's voice breaks into the interlude. "She'll probably tell you _Le Chateau_." There's a slight edge to his tone, and Rogue turns to stare at Bobby, who continues. "That's where I take my girl." So lightly possessive, accepting of a given.

Even if it's jealousy that colors his words.

"Yours?" Remy asks casually.

The table falls silent.

Rogue stares at Remy, but his head is down just enough that she can't make out the expression in his eyes behind the auburn bangs. He merely continues to shuffle his deck. Fifty-two symbols of risky living and explosive power.

"Rogue _is_ my girlfriend," Bobby replies icily, the challenge in his voice clear.

Remy looks up, smirks at him, and makes the cards vanish into his trench coat. "Whatever you say, mon ami." He slips out the door, leaving angry tension in his wake.

* * *

"You could try to get along with the rest of the population," Kitty says, fully exasperated with Remy. She throws up her hands and snatches back her plate of insulted cookies.

Remy merely looks highly amused. "Désolé, chaton, mais your many talents..." He draws out the word while appraising Kitty indecently. "...do not include cooking."

Kitty huffs under her hot blush.

Rogue has been sitting quietly at the breakfast counter while they bantered. She suddenly reaches out and swipes a cookie from the plate, drawing both of their attention. She bites into it.

Remy's eyes never leave her mouth as she chews slowly on the awful cookie. It's brittle, overly crisp, with a faintly doughy flavor despite being burned. She finishes it and licks her lips to catch the crumbs. The scarlet irises flare intensely.

Kitty gives him a smug look of triumph, seemingly unaware of the rest of their interchange.

Rogue gets up from her seat, still looking at Remy.

"Jerk," she says.

He leans forward and whispers, "Vixen."

"Like you're complaining," she retorts. But it doesn't come out nearly sharp enough. He's too close, too warm, and he knows it.

He smirks at her.

Kitty's staring wide-eyed at the both of them. Now she gets it.

"Wouldn't want to do dat," he purrs and trails his fingers down the side of Rogue's arm.

Sparks heat and scatter beneath her skin, even if he only touched her through cloth.

She shoves him back.

He chuckles and salutes Kitty before vanishing around the corner.

"Jerk," Rogue mutters again to herself. She feels just like she did in the Danger Room, like he's charged her somehow with his powers and left her to burn in the aftermath.

Kitty raises both eyebrows. "'Thou doth protest too much'?"

"Oh shut up."

Rogue sits down and takes a bite of another cookie on reflex, then dashes from her seat toward the bathroom, leaving behind her bewildered friend.

* * *

This Danger Room session isn't like the ones Rogue has been in before with her friends and fellow X-Men. This is a real session with the big boys, Storm and Wolverine, Beast and Dazzler, then Colossus, Gambit, Iceman, Shadowcat, and Rogue.

It doesn't take long to know other things are different too.

Iceman blasts a shield of ice to protect his teammates from Storm's lightning bolts. The ice begins to glow. A bright lurid pink infuses the crystalline wall. The ice intensifies the brightness until Rogue has to shield her eyes before it explodes.

Storm takes down Wolverine and corners Beast. Rogue tries to focus on her part to bring down Shadowcat.

But she catches the glare from Iceman to Gambit. The Cajun gives an amiable shrug with one shoulder and tosses the charged Ace of Spades behind him.

Iceman curses as it connects.

With him.

* * *

A word. A card. A flick of his talented fingers. A brightening magenta glow.

Rogue _knows_ he's dangerous.

His smirk. His ways. Devil may care. Gambler. Fighter. Thief.

She should be afraid of him and what he can, and _will_, do.

She should.

* * *

He is the last person she expected to see.

Rogue discovered the little patch on the roof near her bedroom early on in her stay at Xavier's. A climb up the tree or from her window and there is the nicest, most comfortable bit of heaven, one gable providing some shelter from the wind, and a glorious uninterrupted view of the stars.

She's more than a little surprised to pull herself over the edge and onto the shingles only to be faced with glowing red eyes that burn in the darkness. She can just make out his casual figure, the way he's leaning arms on his knees, the glowing tip of the cigarette in one hand. He flicks off the ash, and she wishes she could read the play of red and black in his eyes, but it's just the crimson bright enough to make out.

"Uh...hah." Rogue swallows, more than a little uncomfortable.

"Bonjour." Of course, Remy is _always_ comfortable, and it makes her just a tad bit irritated with his perpetual ease.

"You're in mah space, swamp rat." She pulls herself fully onto the roof and ends up having to rest her knees almost on either side of his boots. She crosses her arms and glares at him.

Her eyes are adjusting to the darkness and she catches the upraised eyebrow, the way he glances around, the small smirk as he says, "Don't see y're name anywhere, chérie."

But he shoves over just a bit, allowing her space to squeeze in beside him. She doesn't say anything, but he's smirking at her, crimson eyes glowing brightly, like he _knows_ she's going to...

"All right," Rogue snaps at him. "Where is it?"

Remy laughs at her, a real laugh. It's a surprisingly bright sound, but still full and rich. He lifts one boot and she sees his initials carved beneath.

"Hand me the knife," she says with a resigned sigh.

"Non." His eyes are playful, daring.

She dares. She's quick to get her hands in his pockets before he can pull away from her. She nearly knocks him over with the effort.

"If y' wanted to touch moi, chère," he says, tone dripping with suggestion, "all y' had t' do was ask."

Rogue shoots him a glare, but manages to get her hands on his pocket knife. She retrieves it, gives him a smug look of victory, and is slightly surprised to find his amused pleasure, like he had intended for her to win. It irks her a bit, but she bends over anyway and flips out the knife to carve on the shingle.

Remy bends over with her, watching, and his breath blows warmly down the side of her face, her neck, and he's too close, too comfortable, but she continues what she's doing, like she doesn't feel him there. When she sits up proudly, he bends a little further, traces one gloved finger across her handiwork.

A.M.D.

He looks up at her, his eyes darkening, one hand reaching out to cup her chin. She can barely breathe.

"What's your name, Rogue?"

He's never called her Rogue, ever, and she doesn't understand the significance, not sure what this squirming feeling in her stomach means, or at least, not willing to look it in the face.

"Ah..." But it's too soon, too much, and she shakes her head helplessly.

He seems to understand. He draws away, lightening the tension dancing between their bodies in the close space. "Good class today?" he asks casually, giving her the barest of sideways glances before staring forward again.

Rogue nods, eyes fixed on the stars ahead. It's easier to ignore the heating between them, the sparks in her stomach at his closeness, if she doesn't really look at him. "Yeah." She rubs her arms in the slight chill.

Remy turns toward her. He runs a gloved finger down the light material of her sweater and stops, hovering, at the soft leather gloves underneath.

The silence is too thick and finally, she looks at him. Her breath catches slightly at the burning questions in his eyes.

"Why d' y' wear dese?" he asks, his voice soft, just above a whisper.

She shrugs. At least her body language hasn't betrayed her. "Used ta them, sugah." Rogue hasn't really admitted to anyone that taking the Cure hasn't taken away her fear. Not yet. Not really.

It's irrational, but part of her still wonders suddenly when her skin brushes another's if maybe it was a dream and her powers will abruptly return.

She doesn't like to talk about that.

So she rounds on him. "What about you?" she demands, lifting one of Remy's gloved hands.

Remy merely chuckles at her. "Wouldn't t'ink dat'd need explainin'," he says mildly.

"Well, _explain_," she demands with mock haughtiness.

He laughs, but obliges. He holds up the covered fingers on his left hand. "T'ievin'." He holds up the bare fingers where he cut away the glove. "Chargin'."

She stares at the juxtaposition of his power and his skill. Then she meets his eyes. "And what about when ya wear the ones with no fingers at all?"

There is no mockery this time, no humor or lightness.

Remy drops his hands to his knees and studies her, face unreadable. "Y' been payin' closer attention dan I t'ought."

She does not answer.

His gaze continues to burn into her, and she begins to realize that perhaps her question is as personal as his request for her name. She's about to retract it, anything to break this terrible tension between them, when he finally speaks.

"I was a pup," he says slowly, still staring at her, never breaking eye contact. "First got m' powers de hard way." He finally breaks her gaze to look down at his hands at he strips off a glove.

Rogue takes a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

He holds out his hand for her to see.

A web of scars, some red and angry, some mere silvery threads, crisscross the back of his hand, up over his wrist, and wreath the forearm. Her eyes meet his, filled with unasked questions.

"Wore de gloves t' keep from chargin' t'ings," he says evenly. "De charge doesn' go past dem."

"But the scars..." She furrows her brows, not quite understanding.

Remy's mouth tightens into a line and he looks away, clenches the ungloved hand. "Didn't always get dem off." It's a whisper. "Sometimes dey burned."

It's the most personal, intimate thing anyone has ever told her and she's unsure of what to say, to do. But then he's reaching for the glove again to put it on, and she stops him, takes his hand in hers, and lays her head against the palm.

"You're beautiful," she says, not certain what gives her the words, just knowing how much she means them.

He stares at her, naked surprise in his ruby gaze. For a moment, she wonders if he's breathing.

Then he's kissing her.

It catches her off guard, but her body leans into his and her hand weaves into his hair before she can think to pull away. It's a brief, gentle kiss, but when they separate, she's hot through her entire body and she can barely breathe.

A nagging, unwanted thought flashes through her mind.

Bobby.

Bobby, rubbing her back, looking at Kitty.

"Ah..." she stutters.

Remy releases her, suddenly, as if knowing she's going to run.

She does.

* * *

She escapes back into her room, going almost headfirst back through her window, and shutting it behind her as if all the hounds of hell are on her trail. Rogue collapses onto her bed, her skin and face burning with her thoughts. Remy. Scarred, beautiful Remy who whispers to her, touches her, glances at her, treats her like a woman, someone special, challenges Bobby, only flirts with her like it actually means something...

She hangs her head into her hands and tries to compute what's happening inside of her.

He's dangerous. She knows it.

He's a womanizer, a gambler. Life is a game to him, and he plays the risks like it all means nothing.

And everything.

She sees the beautiful scars across his hand, the sign of a soul like hers, someone like Logan, someone who _understands_.

"Bobby, I'm sorry," Rogue whispers into the night.

They won't get the gloves off. She's already burning.


	5. Draw

**A Forgotten Fairy. .AKA- Fairy** (Thanks for the rambling. Believe it or not, I like it. :shameless grin: I definitely prefer Remy to Bobby, but Rogue is going to be nicer than I would probably be. Doesn't mean she'll stay with him though! Hope you like this chapter, and I'll try to write more when I can.), **Merr2** (It may take a long while (soon is relative), but I haven't discontinued any story but Spectator Sport. :grins: Expect more.), **TENaSeein'** (Thanks for popping in all over. I like seeing faces at more than one fic. I'll add sporadically, but still not as often as you're probably hoping. If you want to see what's up before it hits the screen here, you'll have to stop at the website. I'm adding the things in progress, the "scribbles" as I call them, and the chapters mostly go up there first. Mostly. It's still under construction. I wrote _a lot_ this last year. :shrugs: Oh well.), **xxsickgrrlxx **(You're amazing girl. Thanks for all the compliments. :blushing over here: The next chapter for you. Less Romy, but quite necessary, I assure you.), **eklectic0204** (Thank you for the sweetness. :virtual hugs to ya: I intend to continue through chapter 100. :shakes head at self:),

**update please** (Soon is relative. Sorry.), **dUlCe** **InVieRnO **(Thanks!), **bologna121** (More is here. No kisses this chapter, but some pretty important stuff anyway.), **Lucky's Girl** (Bobby vs. Remy equals seriously no contest. LOL I like possessive within reason. Bobby was pushing it. I'm glad you liked the characterization and the chapter. And yeah. How could I leave out a kiss? Definitely, nope could not.), **xoAmortentia** (Thank you for your thoughtful comments. Capturing Rogue correctly is always a delightful challenge. :slight sarcasm on the delightful: Especially because movie, comic, evo, and cartoon Rogue are all in my head in equal melded parts. Almost drives me batty. Let me know if I ever screw her up. I do love writing her.), **sleepy26** (More is here! Sorry, the long wait between chapters will continue. Working on original fiction and it takes up a lot of my small amount of writing time.), **ChamberlinofMusic** (He is much, much more. :grins: I love Remy's character. He goes deep in a lot of different directions. See if you recognize the ending here. :winks:),

**coup fatal** (Oooh! You make me happy. I hope it keeps getting better—though this one takes a pause on some of my favorite interactions. :le sigh:), **RogueOnFire** (:proffers virtual popcorn: Well, what can I say? Hormones and a pretty girl that Remy feels isn't being treated good enough in the first place. Definitely bound to make the sparks fly. I'll try to remember to look up that Shakespeare quote. I haven't gotten around to it yet. :blushes: But I will. Soon. And thanks for telling me your favorite line. I try to pay attention to what works and what doesn't and it helps a lot. Besides...I like that line too. :grins:), **Renting** (Thanks for the shout out on your profile. Gave me warm fuzzies. I'm glad Remy's working. He's a hard tightrope to walk sometimes, but that's because he _is_ such a balance of gentleman and rascal. Hopefully, I'll get a couple more drabbles up soon.), **Seren McGowan** (I hope this chapter is worth the wait. It's short and sweet, but it had to be, to match the drabble. Next chapter will be better. Promise. Just um...remember that whole soon is relative. :sheepish smile:),

**pennylane87** (You sweetie! I like your vocabulary for the review, but most of all I just love knowing what worked so well for you. I love playing with my characters and their sharing and the gloves and I just love Rogue and Remy. :sighs: And boy did you pick up on the all the cues. "I have the feeling that big moments are coming and that last line "Bobby, I'm sorry" it's not exactly because she's sorry for what she's done (kissing Remy) but for what she's going to do, or rather for what's about to happen, I'm afraid someone is going to get dump, sorry Bobby nothing personal..." Read on!), **Irual** (Thank you, responsible reader—and source of virtual munchies to get me salivating. This chapter will be shorter, sad but necessary. I'm glad you liked the character interactions. It's always tough to get right, but I hope I did okay. More quesadillas are always welcome. :grins shamelessly:), **dangerouscutestuff** (Thank you...as always. I'll try—read maybe, if at all possible, don't hold your breath—to get the next chapter out sooner. So, sooooooo busy right now. But I'll try.),

**weebird** (I've missed you! I love your reviews and I'm glad you're liking this offering.), **A Rose in the Night** (You're awesome. [speaking of, I _got_ to get your story read. :smacks forehead:] More build up and romyness to come. Quick pause break on my favorite stuff in this chapter, but it's decision time and that requires a different kind of chapter. :sighs: And I love intimate secrets. And whispers. And quiet stuff in dark corners. I'm glad you're liking this series.), **Randirogue **(**ChamberlinofMusic**, you have her inordinate gratitude. :huge grin: **ChamberlinofMusic** was the one who requested the extended version and here it is. I promise to continue the drabbles too, uh...soon. Thanks for your reviews. You keep taking my breath away.), **ElizaV** (Yay! He kissed her! I love kisses. And yeah, Bobby's got to go. Like, now.), **LadyMageLuna **(Sorry about the long wait. I'm a busy camper. Creating websites, writing original work, getting published :insert squeal:, all takes a big bit away from fanfic writing time.),

* * *

**Chapter 5: Draw**

* * *

Rogue waits for the sun's rays to dance idly across her pillow before she finally slides out of bed after a wakeful night. She brushes past the clothes she wants to wear, the long sleeves, the scarves, the gloves, the boots and pants. Instead, she chooses low-slung jeans, a pretty tank top, a light sweater she can see _skin_ through to ward off the autumn chill.

Skin.

Her fingers reach up, brush at the ivory strands of hair framing her face, glide down the smooth skin of her cheeks, hesitate.

She feels her jaw harden beneath her fingertips.

Long ago, life dealt her new cards, left her an out-of-control mutant with no family and a new name, only a loner Wolverine to take care of her, with the amoral Brotherhood after her life. She became Rogue.

She drops her hands to her sides and crosses her room to clamber out the window and shimmy up to the roof and her—and Remy's—secret place. It's a struggle to pull herself over the edge, and the shingles are rough as they slide against her shirt and slightly exposed stomach. She crawls forward on her knees and feels at the carved initials A.M.D.

She tries not to cry as some nameless feeling washes over her. She isn't just Rogue anymore. She isn't a savage abnormality to be weeded out from any place she could possibly belong.

She sits up on her knees and stares down at the letters.

It's time to deal anew.

* * *

She backs Logan into a corner, still coming. Her leg swings up to hit him. He deflects her with an upraised arm—just like she expected him to—and misses her hard left.

"Whoa!"

He goes down and it's a grapple and a tumble and a roll, and then he's pinned beneath her and she's grinning down at him like the little kid in the candy store she feels like.

"Who wins today?" Rogue asks, not above rubbing it in.

"Crazy girl." Logan pushes her off, but gives her the nod of acknowledgement. "You're getting better at those holds."

"Thank ya." She stands, brushing herself off carefully, straightening her leather suit, checking her modesty before dreaming of leaving the room.

Logan is still staring at her.

She pops her head up in his direction. "What?"

"Ro's putting together final teams for missions, you know." He looks at her sideways almost, as if trying to get her to finish the thought for him.

Rogue frowns.

Logan isn't long on patience and he sighs before just saying it. "You're on mine." He stalks off in the direction of the doors as she stares after him.

"Logan," she calls out softly.

He turns.

"Ah'm not a mutant."

Their eyes meet. She's worked hard for this and both of them know it. She put in nights and mornings and every ounce of strength and will she has. She has a lot.

"You're still Rogue."

She lets his words sink in, and a small smile flutters across her lips.

He promised.

* * *

She's still riding on a cloud when she goes to Bobby's room and walks in without knocking. He looks up from his desk.

"Rogue. Hey." Bobby glances around, then pulls over a chair and empties it of a heap of textbooks. "What's up?"

She sits as gracefully as she can, very quiet.

He looks at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.

"We aren't," she says quietly, knowing no way to soften the truth of them.

He intakes sharply. "Rogue..."

But she reaches out and places her fingers against his mouth to hush him. It's the first time they've really met, skin to skin, felt each other's warmth this way.

He stares at her. She can see the growing agitation in his foot, his jaw, his eyes.

"Is this about Remy?" he demands at last.

She drops her hand to her lap. "No," she says. "This is about us, sugah. You and me. We aren't workin'. We haven't been for a long tahme."

The truth settles between them. He lifts a pencil with one hand, eyes fixed on the textbook on his desk, the papers he was grading. When did he get to be so like Scott? He sets his hand back down and looks at her. This time he sees her.

He breathes out a sigh. "We aren't."

Her words are almost comforting, whispered softly. "No."

He nods, accepts.

And all she can think is he never once touched her.

* * *

Rogue has settled in at the kitchen counter, wrapping her legs around the legs of the breakfast stool and carefully slapping her cards face up against the granite.

She draws the first and lays it out. The two of clubs. A winner and a keeper. Her Wolverine.

She smiles softly.

The second card is a spade, the ten. Work, work, work and the X of the X-Men.

She lays it beside the first.

Warm breath washes over the back of her neck, and she shivers, feeling the nearness of a body directly behind hers. His body heat fills the mere centimeters between them and she doesn't move, for fear they'll touch.

"Can Ah help ya, sugah?" she drawls, hoping her voice is steadier than her beating heart.

"Hm." His fingers trail her waist as he moves to settle in beside her on the other stool. They continue to play with the hem of her shirt.

She turns to see him, but he isn't looking at her. He's staring at her cards.

"What are y' doin', chère?" Remy asks.

He's still touching her.

"Drawing." Rogue wonders why he even needs to ask, how he always knows when something's important. "It's nothing." She turns back to her task.

She slides out another card and turns it up beside the others.

The ace of diamonds is suitable to represent the Cure, she decides. And the jack of hearts will do for her freedom from Bobby.

She's about to pick her final card when Remy stops her.

"Y' dropped dis," he says. His hand goes from her waist to his back pocket.

Rogue waits.

He holds out a playing card, slightly singed around the edges.

She sucks in her breath.

The Queen of Hearts.

The Danger Room and the card and the first time she realized that there was something more to the way he touched her, saw her, whispered in her ear comes blazing back into her mind. Her gaze flies up to his.

His red eyes burn on her.

For the longest heart-stopping moment, neither of them say a word.

Finally, with trembling fingers, she reaches out and takes it.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but it really couldn't be any longer. :sighs: Well, anyway, this is not really the end of my hiatus, just the start of some trickles back into ff. For more on that as you like, please visit my new website (under construction, but loaded with stuff already), whispersandstories. weebly. com.

ROMY ROUND ROBIN: fanfiction. net/s/5507157/1/ Please go read! aiRo25, Tamarai, pennylane87, UltimateGammy91, Merr2, Shadowfax999, Chellerbelle, Fostersb, NewMoonNight and Star of Chaos are all writing chapters.


	6. Encounter

A/N: First, I know I owe over one hundred review replies. I'm sorry. I'm still technically on hiatus, but once I have a chapter written, I'm very impatient to post it. So here it is and sorry when your next review doesn't receive a response right away. I _promise_ by end of February to have all my reviews responded to.

There.

Also, my chapter is up on the Romy Round Robin _Like a Bat out of Hell_, movieverse. Please do stop by if you get a chance. I have a poll up on my profile for which ONE story I will work on come January. And that should cover all the major announcements, so...

Please enjoy the story.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Encounter**

* * *

Rogue wakes up with the distinct feeling that something is off. She sits up sleepily, rubbing her eyes with one hand, and looks around. She smells roses.

She stops, staring at her second pillow.

Rose.

A single long-stemmed white rose lies across it with the unmistakable signature of a playing card. The queen of hearts.

Rogue reaches out and fingers the card. It's new, still sticking on her skin from the box. She moves on to the rose, picks it up, and sniffs it appreciatively.

Just then, someone knocks on the door. Kitty peeks her head in quite literally, and Rogue cocks an amused eyebrow at the disembodied expression.

"Logan wants us in the Danger Room in..." The phaser trails off in the middle of rushed words. Her face lights up. "A rose?"

"Yup." Rogue twirls the rose in her fingers, still smelling it.

"That's like so totally awesome!" Kitty announces while launching herself through the door and over to Rogue. She plops down on her stomach on the bed and swings her legs in the air. "From Remy, right? Details, chica. I like _so_, so gotta know."

Rogue shrugs a little. She doesn't know whether to be flattered or bothered by the fact that he was in her room and saw her sleeping. "What did ya want?" Rogue asks. She slides out of the bed to get dressed.

"Oh, that." Kitty sighs. "Logan wants us in the Danger Room in ten."

"Ten?" Rogue shrieks. "Out. Ah gotta get dressed."

Kitty giggles while Rogue flies around the room and into her uniform. Just once, Rogue glances back at the rose and the card on the bed.

She's inclined to be flattered.

* * *

Logan runs them hard—even if he never doesn't—and Rogue's first action upon entering the locker room is to lean her tired body against her locker door, inhale deeply of the odors of sweat and metal, and do nothing.

Lorna chuckles as she settles her own self on the bench and drapes a hand towel over her neck. "Tired?"

Rogue makes a small, indecipherable sound in the back of her throat.

Lorna just chuckles again.

"Ooh, I'm gonna feel this for a week," Jubilee complains. "What was with Sentinels _and_ the Brotherhood _and_ rabid mutant haters _and_ rogue law enforcement, huh?"

Rogue manages to shrug and peel herself off the locker to remove her uniform.

Kitty opens the door into the locker room, shuffles inside, closes it behind her, and leans on it. A sure sign she's tired. She didn't phase right through. She lets out a weary sigh. Even Dazzler casts a sympathetic eye her way.

Kitty takes a long deep breath, as if drawing in strength, then explodes, "Like what in the world was with the power suppressors?" she demands, glaring at everyone and no one in particular.

Rogue flips open her locker and reaches for a pair of jeans. "We'll have to deal with them, ya know."

"Not like without any warning." Kitty's eyes flash. "We like didn't even know they existed."

"We still don't," Lorna says.

Rogue pulls on a shirt as Lorna continues.

"Logan had me and Storm help him simulate the effects in the Danger Room in case they do come up with them."

Jubilee groans. "In case?"

"He's raght, ya know." Rogue furrows her brow and pokes at a forgotten library in her locker. The fines on it will be awful. She grimaces. "We wouldn't have warning."

She pulls the book forward off the locker shelf. An ace of spades falls out with a gilt-edged bookmark onto the locker room floor. She stares blankly.

Interest sparks throughout the room, then Kitty squeals.

"Another one!"

"Another?" Jubilee demands.

Rogue groans and reaches to pick up the card. "It's nothin'." She looks up, sees all the girls staring at her, and flushes. "It isn't."

Somehow, none of them believe her.

* * *

Rogue is torn between hunting Remy down and demanding what in the world is going on or waiting to see what—if anything—he actually has planned.

She decides on the latter when she finds another playing card by her bathroom sink, a chocolate kiss atop it. It certainly wasn't there when Rogue left for her Danger Room run, and both Remy and his explosive charge were quite evident when she got there.

_When_ could he have pulled this off?

She finishes washing her hands, then picks up the five of hearts and searches it thoroughly for any signs of the unusual or of Remy's sharp scrawl. The card is new, shiny, unmarked, and unworn.

Nothing.

She eats the chocolate kiss.

* * *

In her teacher book, in her favorite library chair, on her lunch tray, in her back _pocket_—Rogue keeps finding those exasperating, infuriating, _flattering_ cards—and their attendant gifts. Her girlfriends are starting to give her sidelong looks.

And of course, Remy himself is nowhere to be found.

* * *

She's getting changed and running her fingers through her drawer of scarves and gloves when they encounter a cool, smooth curve like a rope. She stops and scrabbles for a moment to uncover the item.

A bracelet of twisted golden chains tangles with the jack of diamonds.

Rogue frowns, lifting it higher, then turning it in her palm. She rubs her thumb over emerald letters.

A.M.D.

She can feel the flush in her cheeks at the memories of their night on the roof, his mouth, and their kiss. She closes her eyes and her hand so that she can see the way he looked and taste his spicy flavor again and feel the bracelet biting into her skin.

She needs to finish changing. Rogue opens her eyes.

But she slips the trinket on before pulling her favorite pair of gloves over it.

* * *

"Rogue!" Jubilee calls. "We're going to be late!"

"Ah'm comin'. Keep yahr shirt on." Rogue shakes her head, wondering how they could be late for _shopping_, and yanks her purse on over one arm as she trots down the stairs to her friends that are waiting at the bottom.

Kitty's bouncing impatiently and Lorna's tapping green manicured nails that match her hair against one forearm.

"Ah'm comin'," Rogue repeats crossly, but her purse catches on the decorative knob on the banister and she has to stop and detach it. "Oh bother!"

Kitty giggles.

Jubilee advises, "Just turn it upside down. It's twisted."

The purse strap _is_ twisted. It takes Rogue a minute to unwind it. In the process, the edge of another playing card slips between the zipper. Rogue stops, takes a look. Her eyes widen at the real silk scarf she finds in the pocket.

She takes a deep breath and turns back to her friends.

The girls look at her strangely when she approaches as if nothing went wrong. "We leavin'?" she asks, arching one eyebrow.

Lorna elbows her and lowers her voice. "Did you get another one?"

"It's nothin'," Rogue says.

Even she doesn't believe herself.

* * *

Fifty-one cards.

She tries not to ponder what it might mean, even as she's faced with fifty gifts—she'd already eaten the kiss—spread out across her bedspread. Grudgingly, she hands it to Remy. He knows her better than she gave him credit for. The gifts are all things she would have picked out for herself, given the funds and opportunity.

From a soft cashmere sweater that fits her perfectly to a bag of her favorite coffee blend to the original white rose that started it all. She can't _help_ but feel flattered and noticed and—

Rogue makes a strangled, defeated sound in her throat.

"That swamp rat," she mutters.

* * *

Rogue tosses beneath her sheets that night until she finally gives a rather Logan-like growl before launching out of the bed. She can still see the outline of so many gifts piled on her dresser, and she still doesn't know what to do with them.

Or _him_.

Fifty-one. She tries not to think about what that means or which card is missing. She doesn't want to think about it. Instead, she decides to take her mind off of it with a late-night glass of milk and to check and see if any of Ororo's cookies are left from lunchtime.

She slips into a robe and pads quietly down the stairs and into the dark kitchen.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and a prickle goes down her spine.

She flicks on the lights.

Remy is leaning against one countertop, shuffling a deck silently with one hand. His eyes are turned downward so she can't see them.

Rogue slowly lets out her breath and crosses the kitchen to open the refrigerator. She pulls out the jug of milk, all the while pretending Remy's presence isn't making her stomach do flip-flops and telling herself it doesn't matter that he hasn't responded to hers at all yet.

She sets the milk on the counter.

Remy's cards suddenly vanish and his eyes come up, burning crimson searing into her. He stares at her—her hair, her face—lingering on her hands.

She's wearing the bracelet.

"Bonjour, chérie." His voice is low, heavy with suggestion and smooth as silk.

Rogue tries to keep her tone light as she opens the milk, tries to ignore the shivers running through her. "Couldn't sleep?" she asks.

The glasses are in the cupboard by his head. She curses in her mind.

She catches the flash of white teeth, but she doesn't turn to see the predatory smile.

"Still up."

Of course, he is. He's wearing his trench coat.

If there is anything Rogue isn't, it's a girl that will make a fool of herself or shy away from a confrontation, and all this small talk isn't cutting it. She forces herself to face him, lifts her chin a little as she does.

His eyes are fixed on hers.

Rogue holds up her wrist and the bracelet she's wearing. "Are ya wooin' me?" she asks with one arched brow and proud when her voice holds steady.

It gains her a reaction. He pushes off the counter, one hand reaching behind him. He closes the gap quickly, and Rogue takes half a step backward. But he is gliding toward her, has reached her, leans forward into her space, and their breath mingles warmly between them.

Remy holds out a long-stemmed red rose and a card. She doesn't have to look to know it is the king of hearts.

"Is it workin'?" he whispers, his voice rolling over her, his scent swirling around them.

She swallows, trying desperately to catch her breath. Her eyes close halfway and she can taste again his flavor, feel the bracelet warm from her own body heat against her wrist. They're so close, any motion would almost be another kiss. Her fingers are meeting his on the stem of the rose. His heady gaze refuses to let hers go.

She breathes, "Yes."


	7. Tangle

A/N: Here you go! Boy, did this take more than I thought it would out of me, but I hope you like it.

**Lucky's Girl** (That's Remy for you. Wear a girl down slowly but surely _before_ he even makes an appearance. I had fun with this one. And I'm glad you like the girls and the side details. Without them, I think the story would be too empty and not real. I mean, Rogue and Remy have _lives_. And thanks for telling me best scene. Always helpful. In fact, it's the reason I gave more on this chapter. :winks: ) **Le26199 **(Here is the next chapter! I'm glad you're liking the story. It's so nice to see new faces around here.) **eklectic0204 **(cliffhanger? what cliffhanger? Glad you liked the chappie. :grins: ) **weebird** (So nice to see you again. Been missing your delightful summaries that always tell me how well it all went together.) **Fostersb** (I think Rogue might have something to say about that. :chuckles: But I second the motion.) **Chellerbelle** (Sweetness is fun. This one delves a little more into the less sweet.) **paper.****creations** (You are one of my new favorite reviewers. You always have something important to say and plenty of it. First of all, thanks for that. Second, I'm so happy hearts could melt on this one. :happy dance: It was never my favorite drabble, but I really like how the chapter turned out. And I always want to know best scenes. [hint, hint to all other reviewers] It helps me endlessly in doing better in upcoming chapters. And I'll try to update _Son o' de Guild_ soon. [Just remember soon is relative. :grins shamelessly: ])

**ChamberlinofMusic** (Don't you just love Remy? He comes up with the craziest ideas, but I love him for it. My favorite was the back pocket. I almost made a bigger scene out of that one. But I like how you point that out: he recognizes lots of _different_ things about Rogue, big, little, and in between. And that's going to be fun exploiting later, I think...) **PepsiCrush** (More is here! And any word you want to throw out there, Steph. :grins: ) **ColorCoated** (Here is more. Sorry for the long wait. The muse _refused_ to cooperate for a while there. Hope you like this one.) **Irual** (Can I say you are a baker after my own heart? I'm in love with your virtual creations. And I'm hoping to get writing more here and there. What can I say? I'm an overachiever.) **Laceylou76** (Chills is good! :laughs: I hope said guy doesn't _know_ he doesn't compare because I'm pretty sure Remy's taken. :giggles: But that's okay. We all enjoy our fantasies in this corner of fandom.) **A Rose in the Night** (And more in this chapter on Rogue is strong, but she just can't resist our Cajun. I love these two and I am officially off hiatus. Yay.)

**Renting** (You always make me blush. Glad to see you liked the chapter. This one's not fluffy, but I hope you like it too.) **A Forgotten Fairy. .AKA- Fairy** (Remy knows any target he chooses well. Let's just say, once a Thief, always a Thief. :grins: ) **Chefz** (I know. What other answer could she give? And love... :curls toes happily: Love to have readers love what I write. It give me happy. :grins: ) **Lupa Dracolis **(Aren't they? :snickers: ) **CurrentlyIncognito** (Ah, for a Remy of our own. :grins: )

Thank you all. On with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Tangle**

* * *

His fingers tangle in her hair and he tips her head back to capture her with a searing kiss. Remy isn't known for his restraint, and he certainly isn't holding back on this. Rogue cannot breathe, only drink in his heady scent, his hardness beneath her hands fisted in his shirt, his spicy, intense flavor.

This isn't her first kiss.

Her first kiss was soft, gentle, nervous, and fluttery—and interrupted by the devastating advent of her powers. Every kiss after that has been brief, colored with wariness and restraint. With Bobby, cold.

This is her first kiss of its kind. Remy's mouth is hot and eager on hers, his hands warm and hungry on her hip, her neck, caressing. Their bodies press flush together and she burns. Trembling, Rogue slides her arms around his shoulders, tiptoeing, leaning into the kiss, rose clutched in one hand, card in the other, and suddenly she can't breathe at all and tears her mouth away. She takes in deep, ragged gulps of air.

Remy's head leans against hers and his own warm breath is as ragged as hers. The knowledge of that flushes through her. Her face is hot when he seeks her mouth again, hand tightening on the nape of her neck.

It's her first kiss of it's kind. It won't be the last.

* * *

"Seriously, guys," Jubilee huffs, casting _another_ backwards glance toward the two southerners on the couch. "Get a room."

Remy chuckles. Rogue just shakes her head ruefully.

The whole group is gathered in the media room on a Saturday night watching _The Princess Bride_, the only movie all of them could agree on. Lorna, Kitty, and Jubilee are lounging on the big sofa, the guys have staked out the floor—more importantly, two of the three bowls of popcorn—while Storm, Hank, and Moira benevolently preside in the big, comfy chairs. Rogue is laid out across the couch, head in Remy's lap, while he runs his hands through her now disheveled hair, much to Logan's disapproval.

Remy has on those half-gloves with some of the fingers missing, and Rogue feels tingles from the sensation of his bare fingers when they caress her and an odd fascination when the leather twirls her hair about it. He pays particular attention to the white strands framing her face. It's impossible for Rogue to ignore the play of shadow and light at the edge of her vision.

Finally she stops trying to watch the movie and shifts a bit to stare up at Remy instead.

He leans close. "Quoi?" he whispers, a mere breath across her face.

She studies him for a long moment, his strong, masculine beauty. A small smile turns up the corner of her mouth and her fingers play with the edge of his shirt. "Let's get out of here," she whispers.

His answering grin stirs something she didn't expect to feel, but she has no time to change her mind.

Rogue giggles at Logan's growl and Bobby's glare following them out of the room.

* * *

They grade papers together in his room, legs tangled together on the queen-size bed. She likes to face the foot of the bed and spread her teacher's book and materials on the chest at the end. He sits back, leaning on the headboard, bent over the worksheets in his lap. Rogue enjoys the contented silence between them, broken by a friendly word here or there, a light joke, a teasing chuckle. When she's done scratching in her last red X, she closes up her textbook and leaves everything right where it is (a convenience of not keeping the papers on the bed) and clambers up the bed to snuggle into Remy's arms—whether he's done grading or not.

"Chère." He clucks disapprovingly, but one arm curls protectively around her shoulders while he finishes up with the other hand.

Rogue merely hums contentedly.

Finally, he sets aside his work on the low nightstand and tosses his red pen on the top. He nudges her chin up to kiss her softly. "Y're crazy, chère, y' know dat?"

"Only for ya," she sasses back in an atrocious rendition of his own accent.

It's good for a laugh and she enjoys the sound rumbling beneath her head. She didn't really expect things to be so gentle and sweet between them most of the time, but they have been. Remy can be such a gentleman and Rogue finds herself not really wanting to disturb it.

They sit quietly for a long time. A few intimate words exchanged. Another laugh or two. She hardly notices herself drowsing and eventually falling asleep.

* * *

Things aren't always so easy.

She isn't even sure what set her off this time, but she's standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips, accusing him of flirting with another girl, and his dark eyes burn red and angry, narrowed slightly, head tilted as if he's studying her. Kitty and Jubilee have already skittered out of the room, leaving half-full dinner plates at the table. Sam is staring in wide-eyed shock at the spectacle. Logan's barreling down the hallway to try to contain the damages.

Finally, Remy explodes in exasperation. "Y' ever t'ink about trustin' moi?"

Rogue draws up as if slapped. "Ah trusted Bobby, too," she retorts.

"'M not Bobby." The eyes narrow further. His words are clipped.

She huffs, spins on her heel, and brushes past Logan before he can get in a single word. She pounds up the stairs and into her room and slams the door resoundingly behind her.

She's crying.

Why _doesn't_ she trust him? she wonders. Because he still flirts, he's still a charmer, he's still everything he was when she started down this road?

It isn't any of that. It can't be. She knew about that. It's just—

She doesn't want to look at it, all the knotted emotions of fear, anticipation, desire wrapped up in such a fragile, impossible dream.

* * *

And sometimes things are perfect.

He finds her on the roof. She still isn't talking to him, but that hasn't ever stopped him before. She knows the instant he steps out behind her, the hazy scent of spices and cigarettes and motor oil wafting around her. He's been working on his bike. How can she know so much and so little about him?

Her arms tighten around her legs and she draws them closer to her chest. Her face is buried in her knees, her own breath warming her, and she can't see him. She wants to tell him to go away, but that would be recognizing his presence behind her. She curses herself for being sensitive enough to him to know he's right there, waiting for her to speak. Another wave of cigarette washes over her. He's not going to broach this, she realizes. He's going to make her do this first.

She won't.

Rogue is stubborn and strong and she _won't_.

She huffs into her knees.

Silence hangs between them. She can count her own thundering heartbeats, but she isn't that girl. She doesn't give in just because some arrogant, "patient" swamp rat decides he's going to wait her out. She _doesn't_.

He chuckles.

Rogue's gut clenches at the sound and all the terrible things it does inside her. She wants him. He's winning and she knows it and she hates it. Suddenly, she rockets up onto her feet and whirls around into him, slamming one hand flat against his chest.

"Stop it," she hisses, eyes narrowed.

He cocks his head, staring down at her. His eyes are soft, the faint ruby glow dimming into the black, and it tugs at something deep inside her. She doesn't want it to. She doesn't want to feel this. But his hand gently strokes her wrist, then catches it and pulls her one faltering step into his arms.

"Chère," he whispers in that thick, heady Cajun patois and she can't help but listen, but meet his intense, unwavering gaze. He's captured her. "None o' dose ot'er girls mean anyt'in', n'est pas?" For just one moment, hesitation flickers in his eyes, but then he leans closer, his warm breath painting her face. She breathes in his words, "Only you. I promise."

It's perfect. This moment, this person. She wants to be angry, but she can't. She can only nod, helpless in the face of his sincerity.

He draws her nearer and she cannot help but come.

* * *

They share secrets. A tangled web of memory and fears spills from her mouth when she least suspects it. She pauses, frozen fingers tangled in his half-gloved hand. He tightens his grip on her and pulls her more firmly against him on the bed. His breath burns the back of her neck and then his skin brushes hers and she is undone.

"Remy..." she whispers.

"At least y' never meant t'," he whispers back, so close against her.

She closes her eyes and his own memories, horrific pains and nightmares, paint her neck. He glosses over the details—perhaps more, but it is the sharing at all that has her hand holding his so tightly, the other smoothing along his arm, comfort whispered back.

She falls asleep and dreams of Genevieve.

* * *

They don't make sense. They shouldn't be good for each other. They dance the tightrope of pain and promise, anger and tenderness, despair and hope.

But every time Rogue sees Bobby's tense, worried gaze studying her curled into Remy on the media room couch, she turns away.

They _are_ good for each other. She's tied too close to him now and every word they say, every dream they whisper, just binds them tighter in their own tangled web. So they have to be.


	8. Wish

A/N: Well, this one came together quickly and I'm actually happy with it. Enough fluff, anyone? :chuckles: Let me know if you like.

And to all those reviewers of "Tangle"...

**CurrentlyIncognito** (Sorry for making you have to search for something. I _should be_ and usually _am_ a good girl and make sure I include all the information necessary to understand the current chapter, but it just didn't _fit_. :sighs: I'll do better next time. Glad you enjoyed the chapter. And yes, it's all about enjoying it. :grins: Thus, the kill on two chapters of _All's Fair_.), **papercreations **(How can I not thank my reviewers? You guys [and girls] are the _reason_ [besides personal interest] I write fanfiction. Reviews feed the writer and motivate me to continue, to do better. I'd just shrivel up unwriting without my lovely, wonderful reviewers. And I'm so glad you liked that scene on the roof. I have to admit it was my favorite of the chapter. :shameless grin: Closely followed though by the secrets. I just _liked_ it. And I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. You know, _you_ personally are the reason I kicked this one out so fast. :winks: ), **A Rose in the Night **(Technology never works when you want it. And believe me, there is plenty in store for these two. Of course, this fic is one where I focus _almost_ exclusively on the romance, rather than all the big baddies running around. I need one, you know?),

**Red Shagging Couch** (Thank you!), **Irual** (My favorite chef strikes again! And right on time. [what can I say? I was getting hungry. :shrugs:] I like fiery, dark, exciting stuff, and it really does fit. Now, as for _Son o' de Guild_, probably soon...ish. Remember soon is relative. And as for _Without a Trace_, percolating. My muse is turning it over and over and getting a wee bit excited. We'll see. :smiles mysteriously: ), **Fostersb** (Boy, do I! Another 92 chapters to go. :blinks: :scrubbing overwhelming number from mind: Uh...yeah. Long way to go. Rogue does have trust issues and well-founded ones. I didn't want to make this story so simple and easy as to be unrealistic, especially when I have to keep later chapters in mind as I writer earlier ones. It's easy to build a whopper of a continuity in 100 chapters, no matter the wordcount.), **Renting** (This one—"Wish"—is another sweetie. Hope you enjoy the realizations. And Bobby _certainly_ deserved it.),

**bologna121** (You are a sweetie pie. I always love making a new favorite for someone. The more I write, the more I can tell the practice helps me write better. As for steamy... :grins: Glad that works well. I freaked when I first had to write a real sex scene between the two, and now, I'm just working with tension! LOL But yeah...Come "Catch," I'm going to have to bump the rating. And it always bothers me when people make Rogue a damsel in distress. She is anything but.), **Laceylou76** (Tender, drama, whirlwind... I think you hit it on the nose. Strong, stubborn Southerners they are! And yes... Rogue does get over it. But I mean seriously. Can you imagine dating a flirt as large as Remy? It doesn't disappear instantly. It's unthinking to him. Comes natural. Just like every other change, it takes time.), **RogueOnFire** (Thanks for bouncing back and forth with me on that ending. I'm still eyeing it on word choice, but I prefer the paragraph placement. And I'm glad you liked the media room scene [the only well-depicted one of the drabble] and it turned out okay. It gave me a headache trying to capture it right. Well, so did the third scene in the bedroom. And relational tension is always fun to play with. I'll try to keep in mind you like it. :coy smile: ), **ColorCoated** (And just think: "Wish" is sweeter. LOL)

* * *

**Chapter 8: Wish**

* * *

Rogue curls up deeper into her covers at the sound of her alarm clock blaring through the morning stillness. Why does she even set that thing on Saturdays?

The alarm kicks up a notch and she has to dig up her pillow and bury her head under it to try to drown out the racket. She doesn't want to emerge from her warm pocket of covers. It's snowing outside (first snow of the season and a predicted ten to twelve inches), her wooden floors—and feet—are bare, and her bedroom feels like an icebox. No way is she climbing out from under the covers to rescue herself from her own misplaced ideas of responsibility last night to put the offending clock out of her reach to make herself get up.

Logan wants to run an early morning Danger Room session (on a Saturday, for crying out loud!), and now Rogue regrets thoroughly agreeing to it.

Pounding on her door.

"Go 'way," she gets the words out, muffled as they are beneath her covers.

"Rogue!" Lorna shouts. "Wake up in there and turn off that d—"

"Just turn off the clock, would you?" Kitty's high voice chimes in. The muted sounds of struggle imply that Lorna had intended to finish her naughty word.

Rogue just buries herself deeper.

The alarm clock finally becomes a high, shrill, unrelenting keen.

"Turn it off!" Jubilee shouts.

Kitty phases through the door and barges through yesterday's clothes dropped lazily on the floor and the desk chair Rogue left in the middle of the room. "I swear, Rogue. It takes five _seconds_ to turn it off." The alarm clock goes silent with a snap.

Rogue breathes a sigh of relief and stretches her legs in sheer bliss before nestling a little further into her blankets.

Kitty sighs. Loudly. Rogue can hear the light tap, tap, tapping of an impatient socked foot and Kitty counting aloud, "One, two, three, four—"

"Count out there." Rogue slips one arm out from the bed to wave it in the general direction of her door.

Kitty huffs.

She grabs the protruding arm and yanks while Rogue shrieks in equal parts surprise and fury. Rogue slides off the bed and lands in a jarring heap of all her covers on the floor. She sputters, spitting out hair and blanket fuzz.

Kitty plants both hands on her hips, sights down at Rogue with narrow eyes and one uplifted brow. "Get up." Then she turns on her heel and phases back out the way she came.

Rogue groans and stares out the window at the bleak, frozen panes. "This is so unfair."

* * *

The girls gather in the library afterward for their first annual tea party for the X-girls. It's supposed to be a nice pick-me-up after Logan's harsh double sessions for senior team members.

"Ah'm not entahrely sure Ah want to repeat this experience," Rogue says dryly.

But Ororo just smiles at her and sips on her dark English Toffee.

Jubilee snorts in disbelief. "Oh, you'll be here all right. If I have to drag you down here every year."

"That's what locks are for," Rogue points out.

Lorna and Dazzler snicker and Kitty raises that knowing eyebrow.

"Children," Moira chides gently. "Ye know better than that."

"So." Ororo leans forward. "What have I been missing?" Her eyes sparkle and Rogue has to laugh at her headmistress.

"Never took ya for a dealer in gossip, sugah," she says with a smile.

"Pish-posh." Dazzler waves a dismissive hand. "Our lives. Our choice."

"We can talk about whatever we want," Lorna adds with a grin. And heaven help whatever poor soul they actually live _with_.

"Piotr asked me out," Kitty states triumphantly. Her peppermint tea sloshes wildly in the delicate teacup.

Moira eyes it warily as if wondering whether she was wise to offer the set up for the X-girls less than delicate handling.

Exclamations of surprise and delight follow that piece of news. Jubilee and Ororo jump in to offer ideas for what to dress in on her first outing with the gentle Russian giant. Lorna haughtily disagrees with the color matching schemes while a horrified Moira shoots down Dazzler's suggestions on hemline. Rogue simply sits back, one nail gliding along the edge of her saucer, watching her friends and her comrades (never was friendly with Dazzler). Her thoughts are elsewhere.

Jubilee waves a hand in front of Rogue's face, startling her, while Kitty snaps her fingers by her head.

"What?" Rogue snaps.

"Well," Kitty says. "What do you think?"

Ororo pushes a catalog across the table. It's open to a page of classy evening wear in petite sizes. "We were thinking this outfit."

Lorna points one green manicured nail at their selection. It clashes against the rich royal purple. For a moment, every person at the table is looking at Rogue. She stares at the dress, the shoes, the matching shawl.

"Ah have opera gloves that will go with that," Rogue says softly.

That gets them all going again and Rogue smiles as if she's listening, pleased with her successful distraction.

She's not quite sure what bothers her about it.

* * *

She never thought for one moment about what Remy and her were doing and whether it was normal or whether she wanted anything different.

He isn't normal. She isn't normal.

Rogue frowns, staring out the window at the snow. She sees a figure sitting on the back steps and pauses long enough to identify him.

She goes to get her coat.

* * *

She finds him charging the petals off a carnation, one petal at a time, dark eyes intent on the pink flower. A loose bouquet of green leaves and white, yellow, pink, and purple flowers lies beside him on the step wrapped in a matching pink. She's not certain what it means, but his hands have always been restless, charging, shuffling, fiddling, _something_. Maybe that's all this is.

"Makin' wishes?" she asks lightly.

Remy turns to her, crimson brightening, and flashes her that charming, lopsided smile that always makes her heart stop when he turns it on her. "Chère." It's cold out, but something warms inside her under that smile.

"Swamp Rat." She gives him a wicked grin.

He laughs and catches her hand in one of his, drawing her forward. He brushes a kiss against her knuckles. "Wishes?"

"Mm." Rogue nods.

He gives her a puzzled look but offers her the limp flower with its few remaining bits of former glory.

Rogue kneels down beside him to take it, the cold of damp wood soaking through her jeans. For a second, their fingers meet and his eyes are too warm on hers for this to be any anger at her. She settles down next to him and expertly plucks a petal to blow it away with a soft whisper over the snow.

"The Cure for meh is permanent."

She's heard too many rumors about metal dancing off of skyscrapers, newscasters speculating on the reemergence of Magneto's powers, a missing inmate from the facility that once held Mystique.

She hasn't told anyone besides Hank that sometimes the voices still whisper in her head. She still dreams their dreams. He says it's just the previously absorbed changes to her mental structure, that the Cure has held firm.

Remy's gaze follows the soft pink petal until it lands on the snow. For one more second, she wonders what he's thinking.

She pulls another.

"Ah'll be married in mah mother's weddin' dress."

A piece of normalcy she's _always_ wanted, _always_ dreamed about it, and she's suddenly heartened, remembering that all those dates and plans and dreams that Kitty is having now were never a part of Rogue's own wishes. She had those with Bobby and they never led her where she really wanted to go: back home to the south with her own dream and her own promise of a family.

Back where it's warm.

She smiles softly and laughingly blows away another petal with yet another whispered wish, the culmination of her girlhood desires, "Motherhood." She doesn't look at Remy on that one, nervous at his possible reaction. But recklessly she adds, "More than one child." If she's going to send out her wishes, they're going to be real.

And then she sends a fleeting smile at Remy. His eyes are fixed unswervingly on her, intent and bright and serious. Her numb cheeks warm under his gaze, but she does not look away as she pulls another petal.

"Xavier's dream comes true."

Both of them watch that petal flutter in the faint breeze and flurries. Rogue wonders if the dream will fair any better than that tiny bit of carnation. Always trouble and fighting and never any signs that anybody cares but for the men and women beneath this roof.

No rest for the weary.

She frowns at the two remaining petals and then pulls one off and sends it drifting away.

"Ah get two years behind a white picket fence," she says firmly, displeased with a vision of the future where there is no peace. And why shouldn't she be? She's fought for _this_, for touch, for something every other person in her world could almost take for granted.

She reaches for the last petal, but Remy's hand suddenly reaches out and stops her. She stares at his hand on hers as the warmth of it seeps through his glove and hers. She looks up and meets his steady gaze again, her breath harsh and steaming in the chilly air.

Remy takes the flower from her fingers, never looking away. His eyes are full of something when he charges off the last petal and says, "Rogue."

They stay that way for a long moment. Finally, she reaches out tentatively, bridging the gap between them to slide her hand over the angle of his jaw, eyes shuttering to _feel_ him better. Something is blooming up inside her and then he's tucking her gently against him and she can hear his heart beating beneath her and she wonders if she can actually hear what he's really saying.

"What's y'r name?" he asks softly.

Rogue catches her breath in surprise. But after a long moment, she releases it. "What's botherin' ya?"

Tit for tat.

He chuckles. It rumbles through her.

"Remy?" The word is soft, a question rather than a prod.

He blows out a sigh. "Jus' missin' home," he says simply. He shrugs one shoulder. "Almos' Christmas."

She wonders if it is as simple as that, but he doesn't give her time to voice the thought, instead gently pushing her away with that lopsided grin on his face. He picks up the forgotten bouquet of flowers. "Didn' mean t' ruin it for y'."

The heady fragrance of the flowers wells up out of the wrapper. She can't help but laugh at her own earlier fears. Of course, it wasn't her. Then she looks at him and replies in all seriousness. "Ya could never ruin it for meh."

Their hands twine together.

Right now, she doesn't want what Kitty has. She doesn't want the evening gown, the giggling girlfriends, or the gentle warnings of the older women. She's happy just the way they are.

"Remy."

"Oui." He tilts his head, questioning.

It takes all the breath she has and more, but she's glad for once that she never told Bobby the whole of it, or even Logan.

"Mah name," she says.

His eyes flash startlement.

"It's Anna Marie."


	9. Fight

**A Rose in the Night** (Thank you for the compliments. :blushing: It's nice to be able to flesh out more all the foundation I laid in the smaller version of the story.) **Renting** (I like how you say that: no one's normal. But it was good for her to realize that it was okay that she wasn't getting normal because that wasn't what she was looking for. She just wants what she now already has. And yeah. She is totally, completely in love. Glad you like the normal life bits. It's important to me. Without it, the whole thing would be too empty. She has friends. She has a life. Everyone affects her, not just Remy. And just wait until we get to Remy's normal life bits. That's going to be fun. :rubs hands in anticipation: ) **Chellerbelle** (I'm not surprised you'd not be an alarm clock person. Your sense of humor makes that seem all too plausible. And the end was tough to write, so I'm glad it turned out well. I wanted to draw it out, but not too much, if you know what I mean. Thanks for reviewing so faithfully. You're better than I am. :shakes head at self: And _loving_ _Squeaky and Stripes._ Keep it up!) **bologna121** (You make me feel better about having to go up. The drabbles were easier to keep nongraphic due to their length, but um…yeah. Read "Catches" and you'll know precisely why come "Catch," this baby's got to go to M. :sighs: And I should have tacked on the last name, but now I don't want to go back and add it. Lazy me.)

**papercreations** (It doesn't like the dot in your name, so hope you don't mind the omission. I'm so glad you're enjoying this and it hit the swoonmeter. Sorry this one missed Valentine's Day, but I've been hopping. Please enjoy!) **CurrentlyIncognito** (I felt bad for the bouquet, but I realized when I was getting ready to expand that they were still in winter! The flower in the drabble clearly couldn't have come from anywhere else. :sighs: But that's okay. I think it turned out well, don't you think?) **ColorCoated** (Warm fuzzies is good! This one isn't quite as warm, but things are definitely heating up!) **Fostersb** (I think that's what I like best about writing this fic. Her powers just aren't an issue and she can worry about all the other stuff that screwed up her life so much. Touch just exacerbated the issue. It's fun to see her blossom as things unfold.) **Laceylou76** (I think I had too much fun writing the alarm clock. :shameless grin: But I'm glad you're enjoying everything. I think I know which will be your favorite scene in this chapter. I'll even tell you if I guessed right.)

* * *

**Chapter 9: fight**

* * *

Rogue barges into Remy's room without knocking, steam practically coming out of her ears.

Remy raises his eyebrows and tosses his red pen back onto the desk. "What's got y' all strung up, chérie?"

She doesn't bother to glance at the papers. Probably just getting a headstart on his class's last assignment before break. Instead, she shoves his chair a bit further from the desk, earning a flare of red, and straddles him squarely.

She blows out a frustrated sigh, then leans her head into his, momentarily content.

Remy chuckles. His hands slide up her thighs—she sucks in sharply—then slip under her shirt to knead her waist.

"Oh no, ya swamp rat." She plants one hand on his and shakes her head to emphasize. "Ya do _not_ get ta distract me."

His chuckle rumbles lower.

She glares at him.

"'S Logan," he says. "Definitely Logan." His confident tone and cocky smirk earn him another glare.

"Cajun," Rogue says dangerously, eyes slitting, hands rolling behind his head and fingers twisting into his hair. She presses her body closer to his, and the black in his eyes darkens while the red glows fiercely. She leans close enough to feel his five o'clock shadow rough against her cheek. "Ya been holdin' back on me," she whispers huskily.

She didn't expect such a strong reaction.

His hands glide swiftly up the skin of her sides, grip tightening just under her breasts. Her breath hitches. He's closed the pretense at space between them. She can feel him molded against her, every muscle through his shirt, and...

She flushes. Not just in her cheeks.

She should really stop trying to play on his level.

"Have I?" His own husky rumble stirs things low down.

Abruptly, she shoves him back and herself off of him. "Not _that_ way," she growls.

He laughs at her. "Well, y' can' blame a homme for gettin' de wrong idea."

Rogue growls again, but doesn't tell him she was only trying to get his attention. Trust her to forget her boyfriend is Remy LeBeau, for crying out loud, and perfectly liable to get carried away.

She goes to pacing. "Logan cleaned mah clock today, wahped the floor with me, and handed me mah bum on a platter." She still can't believe how thoroughly he trounced her.

"_Not going easy on you, darling, now that it's official and all."_

_She hadn't thought twice. "Bring it on."_

_He had._

"An' a lovely one it is." Remy smirks.

She glares at him and crosses her arms.

One eyebrow comes up. He's admiring the scenery! The _nerve_ of him.

"Remy..." Rogue drawls a warning.

The smirk broadens. "Well, dat does explain de tres magnifique leat'er, mais..."—he gives her one of _those_ looks, one that turns her insides out and outsides in and peers under all her layers, physical and otherwise—"not de holdin' back."

"Ah want ya ta teach me how to faght," she blurts.

His face loses all readability.

"Every tahme we go one on one, ya beat me." She returns to pacing. "Ah can beat Logan on a good day, but most days, it's just lahke this, and if it weren't for his healing factor, ya'd clean _his_ clock." She stops, blows hair out of her eyes. "Ah just keep thinkin' Ah'm not good enough—not when people lahke the Brotherhood and the Purifahers aren't holdin' back." Suddenly, it strikes her that Remy has yet to respond. She stops to stare at him. "Remy?"

He looks thoughtful, but otherwise she can't read him at all.

She approaches almost tentatively and his eyes abruptly refocus on her.

"To fight, hein?" he murmurs. She sees the beginnings of a frown.

Rogue sighs, realizing she must have stirred up bad memories. She settles back on his lap, this time swinging her legs to one side. His arms come up, and they hold each other gently.

His eyes darken and slide away. "Always was a fighter."

She bumps his face with hers. "Ah lahke that about ya."

He blinks. She giggles. He's always so cute when he's surprised.

It serves to lighten the mood and she asks, "So will ya teach me?"

Remy sighs heavily. "What do y' want t' learn? Street-fightin'? Savate? Guild savate?"

"All of 'em." Rogue grins.

He shakes his head at her as if he _knows_ he ought to know better. "D'accord. I'll teach y'. An' now, my river rat, t'ink 'm gonna teach y' somet'in' else."

He pulls her toward him and kisses her fiercely.

* * *

Christmas vacation and the final rosters are posted.

Gold Team: Storm, Polaris, Iceman, Beast, and Shadowcat  
Red Team: Wolverine, Dazzler, Gambit, Colossus, and Rogue

Dazzler turns to Rogue and catches her arm with one bare hand.

The sudden contact startles. Rogue gives the flashy blonde a questioning look.

"It's Allison," she says. "Allison Blaire. Okay?"

Rogue freezes, realizing she's never even _asked_ Dazzler's name. She looks at her, sees her as if for the first time, and nods mutely.

Allison smiles back before heading off down the hallway.

Rogue glances back at the roster. She's the only one to look twice.

* * *

He likes to play with the safeties off. Rogue watches from the control room. They've never talked about it, but she's fairly certain he knows it.

Remy likes cityscapes. New York. New Orleans. Chicago. Seattle. Los Angeles. Skyscrapers. Tunnels. Neighborhood streets. Rooftops. The subway. Busy downtown traffic. Deserted mall parking lots. Urban jungle. Suburban kids. Grim alleyways and dumpsters.

His enemies never match the sentinels and Brotherhood images from standard training. His wear dark, casual dress or formfitting body armor. They wield knives and spikes and guns. He fights their way, hand to hand, with human weapons, his body like fluid silk. His reflexes kick in almost before there is a threat.

His eyes glow red. His focus is complete. He takes on the grace and fierceness of a predator.

It doesn't escape her how easily he draws away and stays away from innocent civilians. He's good at maneuvering his quarry, his attacker to where he wants them. A good thing, she figures.

When Remy brings one down, they don't get back up again.

* * *

She loves to do the dance around him in the danger room. Everyone knows it's more than combat training when Gambit singles out Rogue in the exercises and when she deliberately invents new ways to catch him off guard.

It's hard to do.

He lets the cards fly through his fingers, weaves through bullets and lasers, dodges punches and kicks as if he conceives their trajectory from the instant they're launched.

"Ya abusin' the mutation, swamp rat," Rogue grouses as he duck under another round house kick.

He laughs at her, rich and bright and unfettered, even as he's breathing heavily and swinging into another defense. "Y're gettin' de hang of multi-taskin'."

She twists hard to the left, narrowly avoiding being pinned to the wall, then drops and nearly takes his legs from under him.

"Quit playing!" Wolverine hollers from across the Danger Room.

They kick it up, fight in earnest.

It's a dance between them. Flying fists, twists and weaving, footwork, reflexes, catches, stumbles, rebounds.

Dazzler laughs at them after. "Objective is," she says, "to see how long you can fight without touching."

Gambit pulls Rogue to him and claims her with a hot kiss that takes her breath.

"Non," he says, looking at Rogue and not Dazzler. "De objective t' pin her down."

* * *

His red eyes always glow like _le diable blanc_, bright as a fiend of hell, whenever he is angry, whenever he wants her, whenever he rolls with her in the Danger Room. He teaches her things she doesn't think he wants to.

She improves.

And then suddenly, she realizes he _does_ like it, the physical tangle of limbs, the dance between two hot, adrenaline-pumped bodies. He just never teaches her how to kill.

* * *

The first time he knocks her over outside of the Danger Room, it takes Rogue completely off guard. One minute, she's triumphantly keeping catching the remote from Lorna's toss while Meg Ryan learns about _The Godfather_ in _You've Got Mail_. The next, she's shrieking as he tumbles her right off the couch in a body check and wraps his fingers around the prize.

Rogue shrieks with mock rage this time and tumbles with him. They tussle and roll.

"Ya crazy swamp rat! Ah'm gonna kill ya!"

"As long as y' do it from dis position, y' c'n do anyt'in y' wan', chérie." The cheeky flirt.

She huffs at him even while she's blushing and definitely switching positions.

Jubilee and Kitty are giggling.

"Ten on Remy," Jubilee bets.

Rogue manages to get one arm over Remy and lean on him to glare at her friend. "Traitor!"

Lorna calls solemnly. "Twenty on Rogue."

Remy pulls her under him again. She's lying atop the remote, grinning up at him.

"Rogue," Kitty agrees. "Ten."

"Please!" Allison puts in. "Remy's going to win." She makes a humming sound before coming out with, "Twenty. Make it even."

Rogue giggles as he tries vainly to get access to the remote.

"Remy," she says coyly.

He eyes her suspiciously.

She reaches up, kisses him. Her arms slide around him as he eagerly returns the kiss. With a flick of her wrist, Rogue throws the remote to Lorna.

"All right!" Kitty shouts.

"Aw!" Jubilee groans.

"We got it," Allison says. "Rogue... Rogue!"

"Forget them," Lorna says. "They've certainly forgotten us."

* * *

The Danger Room clashes with metallic thunder between Colossus' hard body and Wolverine's ringing claws. The Russian fights rough, shoving Wolverine through walls, against dumpsters. Under normal circumstances, Wolverine and Gambit on the rest of the team is not a fair fight. The girls are determined to change that, and between Colossus' new noisy fighting style and Dazzler's growing control, Wolverine's finding himself hard put to avoid the bright, searing lasers Dazzler sends dancing across the room.

Rogue has her hands full with Gambit.

He materializes behind her from the smoke of the battle. Her arms reach back and they grapple and tumble against the side of a building. He moves to pin her, but she dives beneath and yanks his feet from under him.

Rogue doesn't hear the others any longer. All she can hear is their ragged breathing, the scrape of her boots and her leather on body armor, the crackle of charge she avoids. All she sees is the narrowed frame of his leg coming toward her, his arm, his angular face when she rounds on him. She smells his cigarettes, his spices, his sweat. All she can feel is his heat and hard muscle and grip.

But he grabs her midair and she flips him. Surprise. They go down together. Rogue scrambles for a hold.

She's pinned him. "Who wins, Cajun?" she breathes against his chest, grinning down at him.

He smirks positively indecently when he can't wriggle out of her hold. The red burns like brilliant fire in his eyes. "I do," he whispers.

Her mouth goes dry. She can only hear his heavy breath.

He isn't talking about the fight.


	10. Scar

A/N: Thank you everyone for your lovely reviewingness. It's been a lovely welcome back off my hiatus. And please check out the Romy Round Robin linked from my profile. My chapter's due up. :grins:

**CurrentlyIncognito** (Your review took _my_ breath away! I'm so glad it turned out well. :grins hugely: ), **A Rose in the Night** ("Sole possession of the remote control. Very important." Yes, I must agree. That was by far the most important victory. :furrows brow: Not that she got much direct personal benefit out of that one. :sighs: But at least she won the entertainment!), **Chellerbelle** (I think I'm secretly in love with every word you write, including reviews. Okay, so not every single word and definitely not secretly, but I like that. Fun and flirty. :basks in glow of those words: Now, um...yeah. Back to this chapter, hope you like. Less fun, still a wee bit flirty, mostly just...intimate. Hm. I surprise myself. Anyways, in lieu of figuring out what in the world to say on that last chapter of your own _Squeaky and Stripes_ before I've picked my jaw up off the floor, I'll just throw out there that you have got me tied up in knots and that last line "Jimmy _is_ Legacy," was just tres, tres parfait.), **Renting** (Your comments and your vote of confidence were much, much appreciated. I do love to write these two fighting. Whether they really mean it whether they're just "playing" as Logan puts it, they just are so expressive, it makes it a whole LOT of fun. Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. This was the first chapter I _ever_ wrote—including _Carnal_—that had me blushing. Can't even say why. It just...did.),

**Ladyhaemi** (Thank you! I try hard not to ever let them get out of character, but sometimes it's a real struggle flipping back and forth between the stories and story arcs and not bleeding some over and screwing everything up.), **Fostersb** (Sexual tension has definitely building. A lot faster than I really expected it to, as a matter of fact. And I just couldn't imagine Remy actually teaching her to kill in this story. In "Hands," he pretty well established that he wanted to spare her killing and how that figured in his life. So here, it would have to be a bit of a tough line to walk, but if anyone could pull it off, it would be Remy. Love him. :grins: ), **ColorCoated** (He just wouldn't be Remy without that, huh? :smirks: Though I think Rogue keeps him knocked down a peg or two when necessary. I'm glad you're enjoying the fight scenes. They're tough to write and I keep just trying my best to do these two justice. Keep up with the comments. You inspire me!), **ruroca57** (Well, thank you for giving my fic a try! While there really is no pleasing everybody, it always gives me warm fuzzies when I've managed to please at least one more person. I'm glad you're enjoying the fic. I really couldn't help how hot it gets. It's Rogue and Remy!), **bologna121** (Sorry I made you wait so long. I've been hammering out chapter 11 of _Like a Bat Out of Hell_ and it's finally out the door. Now to the betas...),

**Irual** (You know the way to a girl's heart. Ice cream, yum. Well, I'm glad you love it, but two things: they have _not_ had sex and next chapter, um, I'm bumping the chapter. It goes to M. No real help for it. :blushes: But I hope you like it anyway. I do always try to stay in good taste. Mostly because bad taste usually doesn't read too well. Not to me anyway.), **Lucky's Girl** (I too had to smile at the image of Remy blinking in surprise. Can't fault Rogue for loving it either. :wicked grin at Remy's expense: I love sitting the two down and seeing what they'll come up with. They always surprise me in a good way. As for Logan's approval... Hmm... I'll have to work on that. 'Cause right this second, I'm not entirely sure he does. I think he's slightly neutral, ticked off that he has to share his little girl, and wishes they'd keep it out of his sight if they're going to have a relationship at all. But at least, he hasn't budded in. I like it when he shows enough maturity to respect Rogue's decisions. And she mentions Allison! You're the only one to really comment on that and yet it hit me as such an important part of the chapter. Rogue is slowing learning how to open up and trust again, and naturally, that starts to stretch beyond just Remy. And just wait 'til you find out _why_ those two should be friends. My research on Dazzler unearthed some astounding relationship plot bunnies. :grins: But I'll make you wait.), **Laceylou76** (This site really needs to get over its alerting withdrawals and _tell us when people update!_ Okay. That's off my chest. I'm so _glad_ you stopped by anyway. I wanted to see how you would like "Fight" and I'm really glad you did. Methinks, though, you liked all the scenes. Didn't see much in the way of favoritism. :grins: But I'm glad and I'm glad you had fun with the remote and the details worked and there was an unexpected surprise in the first scene [missed that myself!] and that I hit the swoonmeter again! :sighs with happiness: Thanks!)

And now, on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 10: Scar**

* * *

She had often noticed his gloves.

Before Remy showed up at the mansion, Rogue had been the only one that went around wearing gloves all the time. Even after the Cure, she was used to gloves, comfortable with them, and only slowly acclimating to the idea that it was safe to take them off. Then Remy came and she would find herself watching in fascination that she wasn't really the only one.

Eating, he wore gloves. Scribbling down an address on an envelope to hand to Moira for the post office, he wore gloves. Sending playing cards blazing across the Danger Room in magenta flashes of light, he wore gloves.

Rogue would stare at his hands, at the skin where he wore them fingerless, at the encasing leather. She would wonder, envious, at how he could be so skilled with them, even doing the things she found difficult to do. He went through a self-checkout without fear because he didn't have to take off the gloves to touch the screen. He shuffled cards with a fluidity and grace that made her want to watch his hands forever. And the way he would reach out to touch others...

Then, he would flex his fingers and she would jerk her gaze to his eyes, caught. Those red eyes would study her, quizzically. She would blush and turn away.

* * *

It wasn't until that night on the roof when he slid one off to show her, answer the question that had bitten at the undersides of her mind for so long, that she realized just how alike they really were.

Deadly power. Out of control.

She fingers one white strand of hair, curling down around her cheek.

Scars.

* * *

Remy laughs at something Sam is saying to them, his hand still turning the door handle into his room. "D'accord. _Later_." Sometimes, escaping his own popularity is only too difficult and Rogue giggles into his chest where he's holding her.

"And then we can go ovah the rest of it too?" Sam persists.

Remy nods, managing to get the door open, and pulls Rogue through with him. He shuts the door with their bodies. Rogue is still giggling.

"Rogue..." He's a tad impatient with her, but what does she care?

"C'mere, sugah." She tugs him over to the chair with a grin and he follows, eyes intrigued. There's that quizzical look, the slight tilt of his head, the burning interest in fiery eyes. "Sit."

Her stomach whirls at the feelings he gives her when he looks at her like that. She slides her own self up on the desk, facing him then slides her hands along his gloves, stripping them off. She isn't sure she can keep up the courage if she looks at him, but he is so silent and she hazards a glance.

His eyes gleam with fierce intentness. She can't read the expression in his face, but it doesn't seem at all off-putting. Not to her.

She takes his hand in hers and traces her fingers along the silvery spiderweb of scars. She finds a dark, angry red streak running over his wrist. For the first time, he shifts uncomfortably. But she leans over and kisses him there. He falls utterly still. She moves her mouth up along the twist until she reaches the top, then traces back down with her finger before glancing at him again.

Such a combination of bewilderment, intensity, and something potent, stirring in those eyes. Her gut clenches.

She looks back down, thankful for the curtain of her hair that lends her some space in this intimate moment. She continues her exploration, gliding her hand along each new path of silver, of red, following behind with her kisses. She feels like she's touching a part of his soul. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of touching him, his warmth, the thick traces of that scarred skin, trying to memorize him in her touch.

"Anna." His voice is low and husky as his other hand slides behind her head, cradling her closer until she's leaning against him. No man has ever called her that, and it makes her catch her breath.

She sits up, pulls away. He is reluctant to let her go, but he allows her.

Gently, she takes his other hand, but this time, she feels brave enough to watch him as she does it. She still can't read him, only knows that the fire in his eyes is brighter, the darkness is blacker. His free hand is restless, fingers thrumming silently up and down on the chair handle.

She smiles at him. "Just a minute," she whispers, then lowers her head to finish her study.

He makes some small sound of frustration in the back of his throat, but she doesn't quite understand it and doesn't feel like teasing it out to look at. She focuses on the scars, the texture of his knowing hands. She could look at them forever.

Finally, she lays her head to rest against him.

His arms slide around her. They fit so perfectly against each other. Her head nestles under his chin. She's almost off the desk now, almost in his lap.

"Tell me about them," she whispers.

He tenses. "What d' y' wan' t' know?" he mumbles against her hair.

She closes her eyes, drinking in the warmth through her skin. He's already told her so much, but this he hasn't touched. Not since that night on the roof.

"Tell me about getting' your powers," she says softly. She wonders for a while if he will.

But he does.

* * *

She has never imagined someone as out of control as what he is describing. Class five. Her mind reels with the very idea of another Phoenix. She hears when he tells her they're so rare, only a handful of people are even equipped to deal with them, but there is only one cure, one way to such desperately sought control.

Amputation.

She closes her eyes, holding him close, even if he's so tense she knows he hates every moment of what he's telling her.

"Never meant t'," he whispers. He doesn't say what, but she's fairly certain she knows.

* * *

She still hears voices in her head. They were quiet for a while after she got Cured. Perhaps they didn't approve. Perhaps her mind rebounded with such a sharp whiplash that it just took them a while to venture tentatively above the surface of her subconscious. She still dreams their dreams, is trapped in their nightmares.

Rogue maps his scars with her hands and he cannot understand why she loves them.

But they're _him_. His memories. His secrets. His sacrifice.

He had sold himself into slavery for two _years_ to a relentless master known as _Sinister_ just to have the ability to live without hurting anyone.

Sinister could not take that away from him, the determination necessary to fight such a mutation as his, the strength of will to stay away from those he loved until he had conquered, the courage to lose a part of himself if it meant a hope for the future.

How can she not love a man like that?

* * *

"Where d' dese come from?" Remy asks her quietly. They've relocated to the bed and Rogue lies curled up against his chest. His hand plays with the white tendrils about her face. "Dey're not dye." He says it wonderingly, holding up one strand to squint at it, as if he can ferret out understanding from just looking. Rogue wonders vaguely how long he's wanted to ask that.

"Liberty Island." The words don't even cause a twinge. "Third absorption," she says lightly.

He releases her hair and his hand falls back to stroking her shoulder. She likes the warmth of how he holds her. Never content to just wrap one arm around her, he surrounds her in himself and it's almost as good as what she had always imagined touching skin to skin would be.

His mouth nuzzles behind her ear. "Who?"

"Magneto."

He stills. She can't feel his breath and she realizes, bemused, that she's startled him good.

"He's not as bad as people make out." She shrugs.

It gets Remy to relax again, but he snorts in disbelief. "He put his own fille in a mental ward, chérie."

"Yes."

He lowers his shoulder a bit and cranes his neck to see her better. "Jus' how much o' dis homme did y' absorb?"

Rogue shrugs again and leans back into Remy's embrace. He sighs and settles back.

"He _gave_ me himself," she manages to get out. She frowns. "It makes a difference. Ah get 'em deeper. Lahke Logan."

"Liberty Island, n'est ce pas?" Distaste curls about the words.

She sits up then, pulls away, and he looks up in mild surprise.

"Ah lahke them," she says. He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off with a look. "Ah lahke them because they say Ah'm strong enough ta get through mah power. It was mah choice to use it or ta throw it away, but these are _mah_ battle scars and..." She struggles to find the words, but then shakes her head helplessly. "They're mahne, Remy, just lahke these are yours."

Her hand rests on his glove. He tilts his head at her, inquisitive, appraising.

"C'mere," he murmurs, drawing her down beside him again.

She is helpless to resist.

He holds her. "We all have our scars, chère." There is something like understanding in the words.


	11. Catch

A/N: Here it _finally_ is. Sorry to keep y'all waiting.

**Lucky's Girl **(Oh goody! I actually thought a couple were better than the drabbles and I'm glad this one was too. I think the best part about expanding _Whispers_ is the greater depth I can go into and I can flesh out all the things I summarized and excised and I'm just really glad **ChamberlinofMusic** talked me into this fic. I do love it. And poor Remy. It really is hard for him to open up, but he's really trying in this story and I love to watch him grow and Rogue grow and them _gain_ that understanding that they need. There is no magical switch that just gives people understanding of one another. It has to be earned and worked for. :sighs: I do love me some good Romy.), **Laceylou76** (It's funny. I didn't even realize until I was writing the chapter that those streaks of hers _are_ scars. And always. For better or for worse. [I think comic writers forget that. A _lot_.] And hope I lived up to your expectations on this chapter. I kept you in mind while writing it. :grins: ), **RENZEI27 **(Sorry it took a bit to get this up, but I have a _lot_ of stories to update.), **RogueOnFire** (Happy tears good! And it's fun to turn the usual expectations on their head of how she'd react to Remy and everything, but considering her post-Antartica reactions in the comics, I kept thinking would it really be as bad as people think if she hadn't had a fatalistic, self-condemning Remy in her head? I don't think it would. I think she would understand because she too would be willing to do just about anything, blinding herself to the consequences until it was too late, to keep from killing with her powers. And I did notice the chapter was hot, but I think this one might be hotter. :grins: ), **CurrentlyIncognito** (Masochism? Not sure I noticed that showing up, but I did like digging under their skins for "Scar." I'm amazed it felt so complete, but I went back and read it again and I could see that. And I know what you mean about a one-shot that leaves you hanging. LOL),

**Le26199 **(Thank you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but here it finally is.), **Renting** (I think this was my favorite Romy moment I've ever written—with the possible exception of chapter 2 of _Dances_. I love the kiss on the balcony.), **A Rose in the Night** (Thank you, thank you! I do love these two. They _need_ each other, whether or not they know it or admit it. And I've been completely drawn into scars recently [about a couple years]. There's this whole story on a person's body and I think that with people like Rogue and Remy, their scars _are_ their story. They're such an integral part of understanding them. And sorry to keep you waiting on this chapter, but aren't you glad I took the time to get it right?), **Fostersb** (Yay! I should keep track of best chapters. Keeps me encouraged to write more. :shameless grin: And I do love studying how alike Rogue and Remy are. They fit right together and they fit wrong together always because of those similiarities and if they just let themselves heal, they're the most amazingest couple. [Yes, I know that's not a real word. :grins:] But so much of relationship problems _are_ communication problems. I think that's what makes them work so well in this fic. They actually talk to each other and try to understand, instead of just trying to hide.),

**ColorCoated** (Hug away! Actually, it gives me HUGE warm fuzzies to know you liked the chapter that much. And I was really amazed at how much _more_ intimate the whole scars thing turned out to be than a lot of other things I've written between them that are more physical and traditionally considered intimate. I just love the way it turned out actually. And I do enjoy doling out tiny bits of Remy's past [not the main focus in this piece, but it just keeps popping up]. Of course, here there's a bigger bit and growing. Hope you like the new chapter. :crosses fingers: ), **Chellerbelle** (Thanks, sweetie! When I was kid and asked my grandparents about how their relationship worked so well [they're amazing and inspirational], they said it was that whole exchange. It's always give and take from both sides. So since this is a healthy relationship developing [some Romy isn't, but _this_ one is], it's always got to have that exchange. And how could I resist the scars?), **bologna121** (Swoonmeter hit again! [I ought to start a counter for this. :grins:] But most of all, I'm just glad the chapter hit what I was trying to do with it. It was one of those times where I got to really dig deep under both of their skins a little and to my surprise, it was the most intimate thing I had written between the two of them to date. So, I'm just sort of glad that it actually reached the depth I was going for and discovering and thank you for letting me know and taking that eighth time to articulate it to me because _this_ is the reason I write.)

And now, on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 11: Catch**

* * *

Remy isn't the jealous, possessive type, though some might think he would be. He isn't even the overly protective type. When somebody ticks Rogue off, he's likelier to sit shuffling his cards with a smirk on his face and let her lambast them verbally or physically, whichever she'd rather, than he is to step in and finish them off himself.

But somehow he's captured her, bound her to him so she cannot escape.

The warmth of his hands sliding gently along her skin, the bristle of his stubble against her neck as he whispers to her, makes her burn, the way he holds her like something precious he still can't really believe is his.

He makes her want him.

Their gazes lock and she stares into the heady blaze of fiery irises against the dark sea of his eyes. Somehow she knows that whether or not he's ever said it, he'll never let her go.

* * *

"The Morlock Massacre."

The words startle Rogue right out of her newspaper, and hot coffee from her mug splashes onto her lap. "Ouch!" She frowns and starts to sop up the spill with her napkin.

Logan raises his eyebrow in question at her while Ororo continues on, not realizing he's shifted his attention.

"Every time I think it's gone and buried, something new comes up," she says, sighing heavily and sipping on her morning cup of tea.

Rogue shrugs at Logan and takes a bite of pancake. She pretends to be reading her paper, but instead she focuses on Ororo. Logan probably isn't fooled, but he too pretends and turns back to the headmistress.

"What's up this time, 'Ro?" he asks gruffly. His toast pops up. He puts it on a plate and opens the tub of butter.

Ororo shakes her head, brow furrowed intently. "We're getting someone new that claims to have been one of the survivors. There were some, you know."

Rogue swallows hard. An actual _survivor_? Would they recognize Remy?

She excuses herself and slips away from the table.

* * *

"What do y' wan' me t' do, chère?" he asks, irritation and annoyance in the line of his body and in his voice as he gathers up his cards for a round in the Danger Room. "Dere ain't not'in' I _can_ do."

She crosses her arms at him from beside the door. "Ah jus' want ta know if they'll recognahze ya, if there's anythin' _Ah_ need ta do."

"Dere ain't." His answer is clipped. He isn't looking at her. He's pulling on his boots.

Rogue glares at his back. "But _will_ they?" she persists. "Will they recognahze ya?"

"I don' know!" He drops his foot to the floor and stares at her, breathing hard.

It's the first time he's ever yelled at her in true anger and she stares back. After a long moment, she turns away and stumbles out the door.

* * *

She can't stay away. Somehow he has captured her and it's only a matter of time before she finds herself in his room again, hugging herself in absent need for comfort and waiting for him to return.

Minutes turn into hours.

Finally, she curls up on his bed and breathes in the scent he's left behind. It smells like him, so many almost definable things that make her think of home. She's asleep when he tumbles into bed beside her and wakes only when his arm slides around her and he buries his face against the back of her neck.

"Désolé," he whispers.

She catches her breath. She wants to say that no, it's her that should be apologizing, that she _knew_ better than to push too hard when it comes to his painful past, but the words are frozen on her tongue and all too soon, Remy is asleep. The moment has passed.

"Ah love ya," she whispers in the darkness.

* * *

It's hard to fall back asleep, what with all the pain and the shouting and the realization of just how much she is caught and entangled, her life with his, and there is no escaping any more. She twists her body over in his embrace, traces her fingers shakily along the edge of his jaw. In sleep, he seems so peaceful and uncomplicated. It seems she should have no difficulty coming to grips with her love for him.

She does love him.

She isn't even certain when it happened, if it was up on the roof or tangled with him on the covers, or the moment he called her by name.

With a soft sigh, Rogue pulls her hand away and wraps one arm around him. She needs to sleep. And she does. For a while. But she's startled awake by his tossing beside her, covers twisting around them. He's shaking his head, muttering in French.

"Remy," she calls, alarmed.

He wakes abruptly with a yell and very nearly pins her beneath him. His eyes are beyond seeing her. She catches his arms as he comes down.

"Remy!"

He stops, blinks at her, and finally she can see recognition in his face.

"Dieu," he barely breathes. His hands slide around to cradle her head and he leans his forehead against hers. "Y' okay?" he asks, voice soft and worried. Red dims into something softer, more vulnerable. "Did I hurt y'?"

Rogue shakes her head and draws him fully into her arms. "No. Ah'm all raght." She hushes him, holds him close. "It's all raght."

Finally, _finally_, he relaxes back into her embrace. "Désolé. Désolé." He holds her, as if comforting her when it's she that should be comforting him, and whispers against her over and over. For the first time, she realizes she isn't the only one with such fears.

He never tells her what he dreamt.

* * *

People notice her silences. Remy's had years to get used to this and so easily ignores when those words come up in casual conversation. The Morlock Massacre.

She hasn't.

Jubilee glances quizzically at Rogue's pensive face. "It's over, chica. No need to take it so seriously."

But Rogue shakes her head and lets them think it's just because there were so many dead that she refuses to question and poke and prod into their personal future tangled with a tragic past.

"You know, I heard Gambit was in the area when that happened," Dazzler notes aloud, then glances over at Rogue herself. "Do you think he might've seen anything?"

Rogue shrugs and proves how much she's learned from her evasive boyfriend by blowing it off. "He was in Chicago that year." For about a week. Recovering from the way everything went down.

The girls hum acknowledgement, though Kitty frowns at the discrepancy, before they break up to their respective classes.

Rogue feels drained as she walks to hers, goes in, and teaches her freshmen English. She tries to forget how closely tied their lives are to Remy's past, tries to forget that Ororo is looking forward to asking the soon arrival what she knows about Essex, or a man called Sinister, tries to forget that Remy's life is a web of secrets and lies wrapped around one stubborn hope for a future.

Remy's had years to get used to this.

She hasn't.

* * *

He's in his room, grading papers as if nothing is wrong, when she walks in without knocking and closes the door to lean on it. Maybe it's irrational, but she just wants to see him there, fine, none the worse for all the speculation running up and down their school halls.

Burning red eyes study her before he sets down his pen.

She'd back up but there's nowhere to go. _Was there ever?_

"Chère..."

"Don't."

They stare at each other.

Rogue shouldn't be angry at him. She shouldn't. It's going to pass, blow over with her crazy irrational fears that someone's going to see and know exactly what happened. That she's going to lose him.

Her hand is already fumbling for the doorknob, but he's faster than she is, catching her in his arms. All these weeks of training and it's reflexive to struggle against him, to fight for a way out of there. She can't breathe and she's crying and she isn't even sure why she's so very angry when it isn't his fault (but was it?) and there's nothing either of them can do to stop whatever's going to happen from happening.

"Remy! Let me go!" Rogue pushes against him, but he only holds her tighter until she can barely even struggle.

"Non," he whispers.

She stops, staring at him, at the desperation in his voice, his eyes. It hits her with a blinding clarity, like a slam in the gut, that takes her breath away.

He's afraid he's going to lose her.

And for the first time, she realizes she _isn't_ the only one with such fears.

Her mouth finds his and kisses him fiercely. Her arms are pinned to keep her from fighting and unable to hold him, she pours all of her love and her passion into that kiss. His grip tightens and he clutches her to him, kissing back with an intensity that sets her entire body ablaze.

This isn't what she expected her first time would be like, but it's real, so very _real_, when they stumble towards the bed in the middle of the room and slide hands under clothes and he's pulling them off of her and she's burning so badly.

"_Remy._"

It's whispers and heat and fire and his hands are tracing over her virgin flesh and her hands are tracing his scars. For a moment, she just stares at him, awed. He's beautiful.

He pulls her down with him, pressing their heads together. "Anna, y' sure 'bout dis?" For a fleeting second, concern flickers in his eyes.

She licks her lips, but she can't seem to find her voice. She can only nod.

Dark eyes study hers for a long moment, then something changes. He believes her. He _wants_ her.

Their mouths meet again and then their bodies and she loses herself in his touch.

* * *

Passion spent, they lay together tangled in the covers. One hand idly traces along the scars on his abdomen. She wondered at first where they came from, but then she remembers. Sabretooth. So many things wound up in this thing hanging over their heads.

Suddenly, Rogue rolls over and rests her head over his heart, draping one arm across him. For so long, she had never thought about having anything like this with anyone, and even when the Cure had taken away her powers, still she hadn't imagined this. Bobby never captured her, bound her to him with those smoldering eyes and whispered secrets and endearments that actually meant something. She never wanted _him_ with a fire that burned and ached and refused to let go.

She sighs into Remy's skin.

He brushes one hand over her shoulder, wraps her up a little tighter. "Y' okay, chère?"

"Mm-hm."

She is trapped, but she does not want to escape.


	12. Shiver

A/N: I'm not supposed to be posting. I could _not_ resist.

**Lucky's Girl** (This _is_ definitely a lot of fun to write, especially when it's flowing well. And I love storyweaving, though I hadn't realized just how much I did in that last chapter. You're so right. And yeah, understanding doesn't happen in a vacuum or in an instant. It takes time, life, and a willingness to try it. That last is what I think comic canon misses out on so much. :sighs: Glad you liked.), **Laceylou76** (I was hoping I wouldn't disappoint and I'm glad I didn't. Yeah, the Morlock Massacre was pretty much guaranteed when I wrote "Lights" and here it comes. But the survivor won't be Sarah. Been done too much by me and by others and I want somebody with a completely different take on the whole thing who may or may not recognize him. Haven't decided whether she will or not though. I've narrowed it down to two choices, both canon enough to make me quite happy with either. I know I like it when Rogue and Remy argue because it's real and I hate to brush things over and make everything love and fluffiness alone when I have troubles with my own relationships all the time, even when I love someone and then you throw in their kind of histories and disfunctionalities and I just have to show the whole package. They're fiery, passionate, opinionated people who don't always agree. Glad the love scene worked. I don't guarantee any degree of graphic or not, due to the whole I never know how they're going to be. I'll try to remember that about the red pens and write more of 'em soon. :grins: ), **Chellerbelle** (Thank you. It took so long to get out of me, I'm glad it was worth it.),

**papercreations** (Seven shades of wonderful? :delighted squeal and happy dance: I'm looking forward to the marriage and the house and the kids too. Very exciting. And it's okay that you haven't reviewed too much. Just knowing you're reading and enjoying makes me happy. As for the **original fic**, I ran into a bit of an interfering Romy block that kept distracting me and a revision that kept dragging and so took a break from it. But I got a start and eventually, I need to try to make real progress again. I think it's good and could be good, but nobody's exactly harping on me to write it like **coup fatal** or **S2T**. :sighs: That makes more of a difference than you'd think.), **CurrentlyIncognito** (Of course they will! They will come out whole and wonderful and happy because I have decreed it so!), Yes, **coup fatal**, (I know I am apparently playing with hearts by playing out their romance in this way, but really, how else can I write them? [that I'm not somewhere else] They're who they are and they have problems and they either work through them or they don't, but this is a story where they do and guys _can_ come like this because my grandfather's amazing without all the rough past, so it's _gotta_ be possible. I'm not trying to break anybody's hearts here [in certain other fics, that's debatable, such as _Liquid_]. :sighs: I try.),

**Irual** (Thank you, but I don't see any major romance on my original fiction horizon. I'm so _sick_ of there only being romance/suspense/mystery novels that I'm knee-deep in two stories and revising another with _no_ romance on center stage, mostly no romance period. It gets old never finding anything else to read that I actually like. :sighs: But thank you for your review. Fear is such a powerful motivator and it's always been a big deal in their relationship.), **Le26199** (You're the sweetest. I'm being naughty and posting this one waaaaaay early when I'm _supposed_ to be polishing up my conference presentation!), **ColorCoated** (I have some chapters I download and smuggle onto my PDA [Tadpole] for just that purpose. I'm amazed that I could write something like that for someone else. And "Catch" is so much more about Remy, but the person experiencing it is Rogue, so it's good to know that actually came through and Remy's feelings are as tangible as hers. Thank you!), **Fostersb** (I love that. I think I'm going to have bind some couples hands in a story 'cause that's awesome. And they really are starting to realize that their only options are to hold on and get through or to go ahead and give each other up, which is something neither is willing to do.), **Renting** (Your choice of the word romantic gives me a sigh of relief. I didn't want this one to be all physical. It was supposed to be emotional and trust and a real decision that had more to do with them than just their desires. And they will be stronger for it, I think. That which does not kill makes stronger.), **bologna121** (Yay! I was hoping it would live up to the advertising [those drabbles create a bit of pressure, especially as "Catches" was my bar none favorite of those]. And your excitement maketh me happy. Thank you and I hope you enjoy "Shiver!")

* * *

**Chapter 12: Shiver**

* * *

Rogue stares out the window of Remy's bedroom, clutching the sheet she's wrapped around herself with one hand and leaning the other against the window frame. Her hair is tousled, her muscles sore, her skin bare. She _feels_ ravished and she finds that even though he's sleeping, she can't quite bring herself to look over at Remy's equally naked form in the bed. Somehow, she's worried that it will make everything that happened between them vanish.

Or make it real.

It snowed last night. It's supposed to be spring, but these northern states have heavy, wet drifts sometimes so late that bury the yard beneath a thick, pristine blanket and frost the windows and the trees. It's the first time since she met Bobby that the snow doesn't remind her of him and for a moment, Rogue simply enjoys the realization that she's completely free from her former self.

She is whole under her own skin. She _remembers_ what first drew her to want to see Alaska, to feel the cold, to wander, adventure so far from home. The sight of all that clean and wonderfully unfamiliar snow. New paths to explore. She feels like the girl she was before she ever became a mutant.

The thought makes her giddy and she lets the sheet glide off her body to pool on the floor. Hurriedly, she gathers her clothes and slides them on, intent on going outside into all that pristine whiteness. She has no comb, but a quick hunt through the top drawer of Remy's nightstand turns up something she can run through her tangled hair. She puts it back, then pauses.

Rogue isn't just a girl anymore, and everything that has happened—_or might—_comes tumbling back into her. She's a woman. A _lover_.

She looks at him, really looks at him. It's so rare that Remy is anything like peaceful. He wears the wariness of the prey to complement the alertness of the predator. It is dangerous to love a man like him, to bind herself to him. He is wary for a reason, deadly by trade. But here in sleep, the angular features have softened and the fact that he hasn't woken up yet, with all her moving about, tells her that he has relaxed his guard around her enough to trust and that thought alone burns into her intensely. He _trusts_ her.

Her fingers graze tentatively over the rough shadow on his jaw, mapping each sharp plane and angle of his face, caressing up to the soft auburn hair falling across his eyes. That softness shouldn't fit him and his hardened visage so very well, but it does. She runs her fingers through it, then leans over to brush a kiss against his mouth before pulling away, a little surprised at herself.

And there are those smoldering red and black eyes, like dark flames, opening up to look at her.

They stare at each other for a long, long moment. She barely notices at first when his grip tightens around her. His hand is brushing hers, fingers twining together, the other hand sliding smoothly up her naked back beneath her shirt. He searches her gaze, uncertain.

Something blossoms up within her then, that foreign, natural, perfect realization that crept up over her in the last few days and wound so tight around her heart she cannot breathe for it. She _loves_ him. This, _this_, has happened to her.

She almost tells him. Almost. Her courage isn't strong enough yet for that.

* * *

It's a little frightening to realize just how innocent she's always been, a girl with eyes wide open, that just didn't know how to see. She's _imagined_, but now she knows and marvels at how real this thing between her and Remy has become.

His whispers, his burning eyes, the simple fact that he trusts her. Gambler, liar, thief. He doesn't trust anybody.

She shivers.

* * *

"Hey," Rogue whispers.

Her eyes are captured in his. He draws her down a little lower, a little closer. She feels herself flushing at their nearness.

"Hey," he whispers back, voice rough, stirring something within her.

His fingers trace the white streak in her hair, the others still playing hopscotch on the small of her back, sending little shivers of sensation running through her. It's almost painfully pleasant.

"Remy." Her hands press into his chest. She needs something to hold onto and there is nothing and no one except him. "Ah want ta go outsahde." She cannot bring her voice over a whisper. He's so close.

A slight flicker of surprise in his eyes, and then that hand slides further up her back to just between her shoulder blades and firmly presses her body towards his. He kisses her, deeply. This is no soft, quiet, sweet kiss like any she's had with anyone but him. This one warms her, unfurling within her to fill her and thaw her outer edges. She moans softly, unable to contain the sound, the emotion.

He releases her so suddenly that she stares at him wide-eyed. She's panting from his kiss. He grins at her wickedly, clearly pleased by her reaction.

"Jus' let me get dressed," he says.

She glares at him for leaving her hanging.

* * *

He stays near her when they go out into the main house, laugh in the kitchen as Remy brews her a cup of coffee just the way she likes it, and she sits up on the counter while he does it, content to have his hand resting on her knee and to see the way the whiteness outside makes the whole house seem brighter.

Lorna raises a knowing eyebrow over her own java and toast.

Rogue rolls her eyes.

Lorna smirks.

Remy pretends not to notice either of them. He passes her the steaming mug and pours his own from the pot. He takes his black and doesn't bother with the cream and sugar that Rogue heaps in, in perhaps excessive quantities. His hand is still on her knee.

Jubilee and Kitty run past the kitchen, giggling and chatting on the way to the back door. They're hastily pulling on scarves and gloves.

"What are dey up t'?" Remy aims the question over Rogue's shoulder at Lorna, who grimaces.

"Snow fight. Iceman"—serious eye roll—"is already out there."

"Girls against boys?" Rogue asks. Or tries to. It's hard to sound very interested when she has to talk over Remy nuzzling her neck.

"Mm-hm." Lorna's still smirking.

"Remy!" She pushes at him to back up.

Remy just laughs and takes her hand to help her off the counter. "How 'bout goin' out now?"

"Or how about in?" Lorna asks.

"Shut up," Rogue calls back.

"Whatever."

Remy ignores them both.

* * *

It's beautiful outside. Rogue's warm jacket is not nearly warm enough and she starts to shiver on the front porch steps, but it's worth it to see the winter wonderland the snow has made of the mansion grounds. Drifts pile against trees and snow graces the branches to fall down in droplets and icicles, making intricate latticeworks. The air is cold and clean. It fits with this white world.

Remy is standing behind her on the porch. She can smell the cigarette he lit up immediately upon exiting. While he has cut back significantly, he hasn't kicked the habit entirely and she's not really sure he ever will. She isn't entirely certain she wants him to.

She shivers again.

"Cold, chère?"

Rogue looks up, mildly startled at the interruption to her thought processes. Remy has his head tilted slightly as he studies her, cigarette pinched between two fingers. Concern flickers in his eyes.

_Cold_. She assesses herself. Actually she is, and she nods now that she's managed to draw her mind to his question.

Remy stubs out his cigarette and comes to sit down behind her. He wraps her in himself, working his trench coat to cover them both. Sudden heat surrounds her as his arms slide around her waist and he rests his forehead against her neck, breathing hotly on the curve where her shoulder vanishes beneath her thick sweater. She breathes in deeply of his rich, spicy scent, cinnamon and fresh cigarettes, the faintest whiff of aftershave. She leans into his hard body, one hand on his leg, remembering anew how strong and lean and _masculine_ he is.

He nuzzles her shoulder, her neck, just behind her ear, stubble and soft whispers—she doesn't even need to understand the words—tickling her senses, warming her far below her skin. She shivers again, for a different reason.

"Remy?" She can barely even whisper. It's just so _intimate_.

"Chère…" He breathes out the name, like a prayer.

She closes her eyes. Her breath hitches. "We should do this more often."

He chuckles, then finally stops his teasing and kisses her all the places he has worshipped in the last few moments. He pulls away and her hand digs into his leg in wordless protest.

"Which?" he asks, teasing over the edge of her jaw.

Rogue's face flushes fiercely at the question. Which indeed? Looking out at the snow and hearing the playful distant laughter from behind the mansion, or... Her thoughts stutter to a halt. How can she even broach what they did together last night? Even if she has no regrets, and she doesn't, she still has no vocabulary or boldness that extends to _talking_ about it.

She focuses on the snow. Cold snowflakes, every one different.

His hand traces warm circles against her belly and every one of those different snowflakes burn in her mind. "Rogue?"

She shakes her head.

He chuckles again, against the nape of her neck.

She shivers.


	13. Grasp

A/N: So this is for **simoneybologna** (Happy belated birthday!) and for all the folks that have been waiting patiently for me to get back on this horse. Some of you might remember that I wasn't really sure I _liked_ Remy's chapters. Well, it's pretty typical when that I'm not sure about this feeling drags for a while, pretty soon the story putters out. Because _I did something wrong_. I forgot that this story is _not_ claustrophobic. It doesn't revolve solely around the pairing. It's about relationships and their own individual journeys that they go on because of each other but separate from each other. These are whole people, not just a couple, and I forgot that.

So here goes. Major rewrite. Not perfect but to me, a whole lot better. Quite a few review replies will vanish, but that's just for a few chapters, then we'll be all caught up again. Review replies for other stories coming soon...ish. :hugs: Thank you, all my readers, whether you review or not. You make this worth writing.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Grasp**

* * *

The boys are playing cards in the rec room, and this time, Remy actually joins in. Logan slapped him on the back and gave him _the look_ that said, this you shall do. So Remy does, never mind he's been busy dealing with more important things (like late night sessions pushing himself in the Danger Room until he can _forget_—_screams, tears, and a little girl's blue eyes shining between protruding bones_). It's easy enough to slide into the poker persona with the smiles and the Vegas shuffling and cracking jokes at Sam and Logan's amicable expense. He lays off of Piotr though; the Russian's nervous enough about his third date with Kitty.

"Seriously, mon ami," Remy tells him with a grin, "de chaton waited _weeks_ for y' t' get up de nerve t' ask her. She ain't plannin' on dumpin' y' now."

Piotr nods, mild expression on his face. He continues staring at his cards.

Sam and Remy exchange looks, then Remy gives up with a casual shrug. "What'll it be, mes braves? Fifty, a hundred?"

Bobby nearly chokes. "How about twenty, forty?"

Logan snorts and sets down his beer. "We're playing proper here, Drake. Ante up or sit it out." He gives one of those stern looks he's getting known for among the student body.

Bobby frowns. Remy looks on with interest.

"Aww, boys. Play nice now, yah hear?"

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin.

Remy looks up at the sound of Rogue's drawl, low enough that's she has to be nearby, and sure enough, she managed to sneak up on the lot of them and is smiling coyly. Her face is pointed at Logan; her emerald eyes are dancing at Remy.

She slides _almost_ into his lap and _almost _kisses him, leaving her soft whisper against his jaw. "Kill him for me, sugah."

Then she's away and gone and Remy's still blinking, trying to remember how to breathe. His grasp of her is so tenuous; she's like water through his fingers.

He glances over at Bobby, measuring him and wondering what's bothering her there that Remy doesn't know about. He had written off Bobby as a problem right after she dumped him.

"Thirty, sixty," Remy offers, "and we'll call it even, d'accord?" His words are to Logan; his eyes are on Bobby.

Logan's own eyes narrow, but he nods. "Let's play."

* * *

It frightens him how quickly he could lose everything. Her smile. Her touch. The silky strands of white running through her hair. He takes every opportunity to study her and impress every moment, every sensation firmly in his memory.

They're watching a movie in the rec room, Remy and Rogue tangled together on a comfortable sofa. She's watching some hotshot action star (they all look alike to him); his gaze is reserved for the belle femme in his arms. Her fingers trail lazily over his forearm sending sparks and shivers through his entire body. He can't seem to notice anything outside of the warm feel of her body settled into his, her soft, heady scent overwhelming him, her nearness—her _trust_.

She tilts her head back slightly, just catching his gaze with hers. He reaches up and tangles one hand in her hair. Pure white and rippling mahogany. He takes in the sparkle of emerald eyes, the slender, _bare_ hand lying against his chest. For a long moment, they stare at each other and hold a conversation without the barriers of words.

_'We'll be fahne,'_ she mouths.

He kisses her softly, unwilling to express his denial. He keeps it brief.

Rogue knows about Genevieve, his betrayal of the only woman he ever _made_ love him. Remy wonders sometimes if she ever realizes the similarities, if she wonders whether he would betray her. She shouldn't trust him, look at him with that soft, reassuring smile, lean over to kiss him back, lightly but so very warmly before turning back toward the television screen and nuzzling her head against his chest.

He tightens his grip around her waist. He has nothing beyond himself to keep her, and yet... He strangles the thought.

He has never been someone to trust.

* * *

Belladonna Boudreaux was the kind of beauty that could take his breath away. Remy never once tried to win her heart. Somehow a few years of playing and laughing together on the streets of New Orleans, climbing a few trees, teaching him to throw a knife with deadly accuracy, fumbling with the excitement of discovery and teaching her just how he wanted her, her an Assassin, him a Thief, was all it took to bring together families that had warred together for centuries and now both wanted peace.

She was his.

Her laughing blue eyes. The golden curls that blew with the wind until she pulled them back in tight, tight braids, then swatted him like the fairytale princess guarding her geese when he tried to pull them down and run his hands through the waterfall of glorious silk. She loved him, Thief that he was, trusted him, fought for him when he killed her own brother in a wedding everybody wanted and yet nobody could save. She clung to him at the very end when he refused her request to join him in exile. Even if Remy wanted her to, the Guilds would never allow it.

He never had to woo her, never had to fight for her, never had to earn her _trust_.

She was his.

And then she wasn't.

A handful of cards. The deal of fate. Divorce. Exile. Blood. There was nothing he could do to hold her.

Fate isn't on his side this time. Rogue is not _his_ by right and Logan certainly doesn't approve. She isn't his destiny, his childhood companion, the obvious choice everyone is waiting for him to make. When he first caught sight of her flashing green eyes burning into him, she belonged to somebody else, never mind whether the homme deserved her.

He doesn't think he can let her go.

* * *

Logan takes one look at Remy's agitated pacing back and forth in front of the library window. He closes the door behind him and gestures at a table. "Sit." The word is a command.

Remy sits, dropping bonelessly into a slouch and scowling at the empty table. Logan sits across from and gestures for Remy to shuffle. He does.

It's one of those odd half-hours that both men are well aware of when the students are in their last classes and any free teachers have other things to do. The library is empty save for Logan, Remy, and the pack of cards.

For a while neither speak beyond the game. It's a safe way for them to interact without Logan reaching out and tearing Remy a new one for stealing the heart of Logan's little girl without permission or regret. But it isn't Logan that initiated this encounter, and Remy knows in the unhurried ticking of a mental clock, he only has so much time to broach the issue before the library will no longer be abandoned, and his opportunity with Logan will be gone.

"Just spit it out, Gumbo," Logan finally says.

"How much y' know?" Remy tosses off the question carelessly.

Logan grunts. The question is anything but careless. "Raise ten."

Remy tilts his head, matches.

"I know you're running scared about this massacre thing." Logan levels a measuring gaze at Remy, who shrugs. "Got tangled up in something bigger than you?"

A harmless, innocent question. He's giving Remy a way out. I don't trust you. I don't _like_ you, but you're hers and I'll watch your back if you give me a reason.

Remy has no reason to give. He shakes his head. "Didn' turn out, mais I shoulda been lookin' for de double-cross, neh?" His accent always thickens when he's agitated. Remy curses himself for the obvious tell.

Logan frowns, trades in a card. "Does she know?"

Casual question, casual answer.

Remy shrugs, an unqualified yes.

They finish out the hand, show their cards. Logan takes the pot. He glances sideways at Remy, but Remy doesn't respond. He feels too somber, too serious about what he's asking.

Logan gives a short, sharp nod.

Remy would let out his breath, but he isn't so far gone as _that_. He simply nods in return.

The men exchange handshakes, put their chairs in, leave the library door open, and go their separate ways. No one would ever guess at what had really just occurred.

* * *

He finds her sitting up on a breakfast stool at the kitchen counter, reading a newspaper with furrowed brow. She's more addictive than cigarettes or drink or any other woman he's ever known, and instead of passing on, he pauses in the hallway to study the way she leans against the counter, one finger tracing delicately across the page. Her hair is down and falling over one shoulder and arm, pulled back on the other side. White tickles her cheek. He wants to brush it away. He wants to touch her, hold her. Instead of reaching for his cards, his restless hands reach for her.

He crosses the intervening gap between them almost before he realizes he has done so and certainly before she realizes it. She gasps softly as his arms wrap around her and he embraces her, holding her reassuringly against him.

"Chère." His voice is rough when he whispers into her hair. He's giving away so much again, those tells that scare him because he's never trusted anyone enough to be so obvious before.

Rogue pushes at him gently, twists her body around in his grasp, and kisses him soft and warm.

His hands tangle into her hair, pulling her fiercely closer, and he knows he should be more careful, but he can't. He has to reassure himself that this is real. She's still here with him.

"Remy," she says softly.

"Quoi?"

"Ah have ta get ta class." Her eyes are apologetic, but he wants to simply tell her no, he needs to feel her beside him because this can't be _real_.

He backs away. He lets her go.

* * *

Remy has always been a man of many distractions: poker, women, motorcycles, thieving, and revenge. Just now, poker would require a trip into town, his chére's teaching detention (he mutters unmentionables at Ororo's schedule for the week), he really isn't up for a ride into town or anywhere else right now, stealing something is not the best way to lay low while waiting for the hand of fate, and that just leaves Bobby.

He shows up in the homme's doorway, game face on, Cheshire grin, a deck of cards shuffling back and forth between deft fingers. He makes himself comfortable, leaning against the frame.

"Can I help you?" Bobby asks. He's got a grade book on his lap and a sheaf of papers with Danger Room strategies in his hand.

Remy dismisses those with a glance. Bobby's got the makings of leadership, but he's not very good at stategy. He hasn't even realized yet that Remy's blocked off the only exit Bobby would likely use.

"What exactly does Rogue have against y'?" he asks casually, still shuffling. Remy isn't going for subtle. This is a steam-blowing exercise after all. "Seems t' me, y' made her unhappy."

Bobby stares at him. "Should _she_ be talking to me if she's mad?"

"Maybe." Remy smirks. "Maybe not." He stops shuffling and puts the cards away. He tilts his head to scratch at the shadow growing on his chin. Eyes narrow. "Y' wouldn't still be interested in de petite chat, now would y'?"

"Excuse me?" Bobby's French sucks.

Remy doesn't much care. He nods to himself. He takes one step inside of Bobby's room, and it's enough to change the entire tone of the conversation.

Remy weaves one card through his fingers, then nods at Bobby this time. "Piotr's mon ami, comprendez? Y' hurt him, y' chase his girl, y' do anyt'ing t' ruin what he's got going, and I'll make sure y' understand why we call it _crush_."

"You're one to talk," Bobby replies. His words come out bitter.

Remy laughs without humor. "Y' gave up Rogue before I ever touched her." He leans against the doorframe again. "I respect anot'er man's woman, even if he deserves her like a princess deserves de gutter."

It was torture, staying away from someone like Rogue, challenge and invitation all wrapped up in one, but he had done it. Until he realized Bobby spent his time pursuing someone else and consistently ignored his own girlfriend.

"Mon ami," Remy said, shaking his head, "a _princess_ deserves a _prince_."

* * *

"Her name's Callisto," she says softly, sliding into his arms after marking up her English papers.

He shrugs, still shuffling his cards with one hand to soothe his nerves. She studies him, frowning lightly as if trying to read him. She cannot know from his practiced mask that his mind is racing, sorting through the Morlocks, the Omegas, that offshoot group of survivors, and Gene Nation, children of the Massacre, trying to remember who Callisto was, is, and hadn't she—

Remy frowns. "T'ought she was dead."

"In the Massacre?" Rogue asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

He vehemently suppresses his wince and looks at her, wondering at how she says the words so easily. Callisto was supposed to have died when Phoenix killed her, but Rogue doesn't know that. She has no reason to suspect it wasn't Remy. But when he looks into those brilliant green eyes, he finds no condemnation. "Why y' okay wit' dis, chère?" he asks suddenly.

She catches in her breath sharply. Has she ever even thought about it?

He waits for her answer, hand still on the cards, on her. She shrugs one shoulder, hunches a bit, and tucks her head beneath his chin where she doesn't have to look at him.

A restless feeling dances under his skin, unable to be certain, not that he ever could be. His fingers glide through the silky white of her hair. He leans close to breathe her in. She clutches him close then. It takes his breath away how easily he could lose her. A moment. The wrong word spoken. He could never ask her to leave this place, not for the wretch that he is. He couldn't even ask Bella to leave with him when he was innocent, before he'd walked that damning road of pain and death and suffering.

"'M not a good man," he whispers.

"Ah don't care," she states stubbornly, all sassy, obstinate Rogue.

Remy wants to laugh, but he can't. Belladonna hadn't cared either. Instead, he holds her tighter, allows his hands to wander along her spine, sliding teasingly lower until he hears her breath hitch and feels her bury her face against him.

She should.

* * *

Hands, legs, arms grasping, holding hard to each other as they fall into his bed at night. It's not about sex. It's not about their fears. It's not even about touch.

She's a loner, a belle, fiery, independent, and not quite _his_ though he knows he's long since become hers.

He falls asleep in her arms. When he wakes, she's still there.

* * *

REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 12:

**SparklesInTheSun** (There's a thought: sometime we ought to hold an awards ceremony for Rogue/Remy chapters. I like it. :grins: And except at the end, I hadn't really thought about the juxtaposition of the cold snow and the heat between Rogue and Remy. Then, I definitely noticed. :grins: And it's okay if you don't review all the time; it's just nice to know when people are still reading and enjoying [and I admit to being slightly freaked that I went from about twenty reviews a chappie to about twelve, but happened after a _looooooooong_ hiatus, so understandable. :shrugs:]. Just thank you for reading and for enjoying!), **starlight2twilight** (I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. If you have a next chapter you want to read, you must tell me what it is before you punish me for not delivering. :wags finger admonishingly: And I haven't seen _you_ writing anything, miss pot.), **CurrentlyIncognito** (:blushes: You are really too kind.), **A Rose in the Night** (Epic? Wow. How in the world did I pull that off? :boggles and requests muse to deliver so well at all times: And trust me, that is _definitely_ a proper review. [detailed is great, but evocative is fine too. :huge grin:]),

**ColorCoated** (ROTFL But you didn't have to break up with them. [I'm rather fond of them myself. :grins:] But I'm glad this one hit the sweetspot. It's such a delicate thing to me, that fine line between everything they just opened up, but having to react to that when Rogue is as shy as she is [ala "blushes"]. I just love good _warm_ Romy!), **bologna121** ("And this chapter was the best post-sex chapter I've ever read." You made my day with that. :warm fuzzies and virtual hugs: ), **RavenDove84** (You live! You're enjoying the chapters! They're actually unique? That makes me happy, not that I could ever have guessed they were. I'm just glad you're still reading and enjoying. A lot of the old crowd has vanished for the time [not that me, miss hiatus, can complain] and it's reassuring to know they're not all gone and not reading. :sighs: Thank you! Now, to hope I can measure up with this _next_ chapter. :trembling in the boots: ), **Renting** (Just as a note: whenever I need a pick-me-up to encourage me that I'm not a brainless idiot of a writer, I go and read your profile notes on _Whisper/Whispers_. Thanks for that. You are the sweetest. As for the review: I do love a good cuddle. And I have to admit, I'm still debating whether she'll get around to that big word any earlier than in the drabbles.), **Chellerbelle** (Thank you! I always love to please you. [something about your impeccable taste] :grins:)


	14. Slumber

A/N: Didn't change this chapter _at all_.

* * *

**ColorCoated** (I knew at some point, I was going to have to address Remy and Logan's interactions (for lack of a better word) over Rogue and Remy's relationship, as well as the fact that Logan can smell emotion. That includes everything that's being going on with him worried about the Massacre. And it was fun to write too! Win, win.), **Laceylou76** (You're not sick for loving angst. I adore **mesoc**'s "go not to lethe" and I cry over it every time. And happy endings make it hugely better. But yeah, Remy's got an entirely different kind of angst going than the strict Rogue/Remy stuff. He's loaded up on a bad past and still can't let himself feel redeemed. :sighs: Good thing Rogue's stubborn too, huh? As for Callisto...as usual, I wrote it subtly, but Tattoo is a real Marvel character and it explains away all the ridiculous stuff they did to her in the movie. [Plus, I'm expanding majorly on the same theory in Ember. Maketh me happy.]), **bologna121** (:breathes sigh of relief: I'm glad it worked and that you liked it [favorite? :happy dance:] 'cause it gave me fits writing it. So did "Slumber" actually. :sighs: I'll get the hang of his POV soon...I hope.),

**Renting** (Logan knows some. He knows that Remy's emotions are haywire over the issue, and now, he's agreed to help watch Remy's back over it. And yeah about Remy, but it's hard to get over thinking himself a bad guy when the bad things he's done keep knocking on his door.), **Fostersb** (The most important thing, I think, about having a _healthy_ relationship, is that it has to contribute to strengthening a person, not making them dependent. And that's something I'm really going for here, and keep hope it's working: a healthy relationship.), **Chellerbelle** (I love Remy's mind. Probably too much. I'm glad you're enjoying it. I love writing Logan.), **CurrentlyIncognito** (I love Remy too much to let things go too badly for him. Besides, there's a clue it works out pretty well by just reading up in the drabbles. It still haunts him, and he has to tread pretty carefully, but we're not going to watch meltdown just yet. :grins: ), **A Rose in the Night** (I think that yeah covered it, as long as it's a good yeah and not a bad yeah. And you picked up on that little detail that sort of hit Remy out of the blue. He totally belongs to someone, and that's rather new in his experience. :grins: Hope this was soon enough for an update.)

Well, anyway, here you go!

* * *

**Chapter 14: Slumber**

* * *

Her soft fragrance is distracting. Remy is trying to finish drafting the quiz for his French class, but Rogue's warm body is settled under his arm, her head leaning heavily against his shoulder, her breath gentle under the scratchy sound of his pen, and that stray snowy lovelock of pure silk lying against the smooth hollow of her neck. It's distracting.

She's asleep.

He groans and finally gives up, shoving his papers onto the nightstand.

He's not quite sure when it got like this. The first time Rogue fell asleep in his room was completely undeliberate. She would work herself to bone exhaustion between the Danger Room and proving she was just as good as any other mutant now that she was Cured, acting as girls dorm mother for a while there, and then teaching three classes to several grades of students, while still making herself available to assist Ororo whenever extra things came up. With the overflow of refugees after Alcatraz, things came up a lot. So it wasn't entirely a surprise to him when she started falling asleep in the middle of grading papers or nodding off on his shoulder while they talked. But it didn't stay like that.

And he didn't notice why.

Somewhere in there, Rogue stopped falling asleep. Remy can't quite put his finger on when or what changed, only he's realized that she stays to sleep now. Deliberately. When all is said and done, she clambers up the bed and curls into his arms, sometimes sliding under the covers with a soft goodnight in that husky drawl. He wishes he could decipher when it happened. And why.

For now, he settles for watching her restful form, the way she takes each reassuring breath, the way she wraps herself around him, utterly trusting. He can't help but hold her close in his arms, ghost a kiss over the edge of her jaw, nuzzle her forehead softly. She's so beautiful. He tells her so, though she cannot hear him. His breath paints whispers on her skin. So beautiful. So lovely. You make me want to be a better man. You make want to lay the entire world at your feet.

Eventually, he too drifts off to sleep. Perhaps because she's there, he does not dream.

* * *

He's the only one that doesn't seem surprised that Callisto is not beautiful, which is interesting, seeing as by his sources, either Storm or Phoenix killed her.

Remy sits at the far end of the conference table when they bring her into the War Room. The distance gives him room to maneuver if he needs it. She won't notice him first. He shuffles his deck rhythmically through his fingers. It gives him something to do.

Callisto is dark-haired, dark-eyed, a patch over one and not for show. Her face is scarred, her body twisted somewhat with the injuries of years past, before she drove herself underground and founded the Morlocks. He remembers her now, her face, the way she called out and herded her people away from the Marauders as best as she could before counterattacking brutally. It's a wonder she survived, but even then, he knew she had. Callisto wasn't the kind of woman to stay down for anything.

It's an odd argument for his innocence, gruesome even, but if he had planned that attack, there would not have been chaos. There would have been no way out. It was all too easy for a survivor like Callisto, or a child in the arms of a thief, to slip away between the killers and the smoke.

Callisto's stark gaze brushes into his for just a moment, and then passes on.

He's Gambit. He didn't hold his breath, so he can't let it out again and give himself away. But he leans back in his seat just a little. Rogue's eyes slide to one side before focusing on Callisto again.

Ororo is the one who stands and greets her, holding out a hand. Callisto returns the handshake perfunctorily, dark eyes still roving with the wariness of one long prey.

"Thought you died out on Alcatraz," Logan says, narrowed eyes, arms crossed.

Callisto shrugs and slides into her offered seat. "I was also tattooed," she says.

The raised eyebrow implies irrelevance, but Remy's shuffling takes on a more mechanical style. The words... He looks up, sharply. She now sports only one, a dark swirl below her ear, gliding off like a dragon's tail on the back of her neck.

"What do ya mean, sugah?" Rogue broaches the question.

Remy wishes she hadn't as Callisto swings her attention directly toward the girl beside him.

"Tattoo was one of my Omegas." She shrugs. "He gave me this." A finger over the dark mark on her neck. "It let me heal."

Tattoo wasn't only an Omega though. Before that, he was a two-timing, two-bit crook in Seattle. Remy keeps his eyes down, on his cards, thoughtful. He'll watch his step. He has no doubt Callisto knows a thing or two more about Sinister than she's telling.

* * *

Rogue tries to hide it, but she's hopelessly female and emotional, and Remy gives up telling her to stop looking so crazy happy around the school before somebody figures out why. She laughs at him anyway, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him soundly before sassing back her disregard and walking away. It could be startling to him that he isn't really irritated, only thoroughly exasperated.

But she's a rogue all right.

No rules, just attitude. She does things her own way and doesn't bother to answer when someone asks her a question she doesn't like.

After a few weeks, he just quits worrying.

* * *

Remy's in the middle of wrapping up his savate practice when Rogue throws her entire body into him from behind.

"Rogue!"

"C'mon, sugah!" She grins playfully as she rolls out of the way. "Ya can do a whole lot better than that."

It's a challenge he can't refuse, and he blocks her next kick effectively, then goes on the attack. It's not so much of a dance as usual. They grapple and roll and slam bodies into walls and tussle on the ground and wrestle each other until what's on his mind really isn't the fight anymore.

He's breathing hard when he halfway pins her long enough to get a word in. "Let's take dis elsewhere."

"Hm?" Rogue glances up, puzzlement in her eyes.

He presses a little harder into her and understanding dawns.

"_Now_."

She giggles.

* * *

For once, he can say she started something, but he's merciless as ever once he gets her behind closed doors. He let her stay ahead of him in the haphazard chase to his room, but as soon as they get inside, he captures her and pins her firmly against the wall.

She's laughing hard and protesting, but it doesn't stop him from tickling her in all the worst places and touching her everywhere, unable to resist her drugging sweetness. Then he's kissing her instead and nipping and she's gasping instead of laughing and moaning when he lets her go and her arms wind close around him. Her hands run roughly over his body and he groans in return.

Suddenly, the wall isn't good enough and they push and shove and grapple to the bed, unable to stop touching, unable to _stop_.

"Anna," he whispers against her, over her skin, as he tastes her. "Y're so beautiful."

Rogue catches him in her arms. She's trembling slightly when his mouth finds hers again. He's slipping between her legs and he knows she's nervous. No matter how many times she's slept over in his room, they've only done this twice. But he reassures her gently, nuzzling her, touching her softly, slowing the frantic need they came in here with to something languid, intimate.

For a little while, he allows himself to forget the demons chasing him and loses himself in her.

* * *

They fall asleep tangled together. He does not dream of Paris or of the darkness of the tunnels or any of the other nightmares that plague him when she isn't there.

She's the light that chases away his darkness. When he wakes, he wants to stare at her forever.

* * *

Days later he realizes that something has shifted in their relationship again. When he's trying to clean his lockpicks, Rogue gets bored and climbs into his lap, shoving everything else out of the way.

"Rogue!" Remy protests, exasperated. "Dat's a hundred thousand dollar lockpick."

He tries to go after it but finds himself pinned neatly and Rogue grinning down at him.

"'M sure it is, sugah."

Her hands are wandering and his mind quickly gets off her words and onto something radically different.

"Rogue..." He groans and wraps his hands around hers before she can do too much damage.

She giggles and rolls off to snuggle in at his side.

He looks to the ceiling. "Dieu, grant me patience."

"Very funny." Her head settles in his lap, hair spreading like a blanket over his legs.

Remy studies the color of the scattered white mingled with the brown, runs one hand through the silken texture, finally leans over to breathe it in. It's peaceful and it's a long time before either of them move or say anything.

It's the moment that he realizes everything has shifted yet again, and he frowns as he considers. Almost without thinking, he reaches for the deck he keeps on his nightstand and begins to flip the cards through his fingers. Her soft, warm skin brushes upward against his, fingers stroking his scars.

"Thinkin'?" she asks softly.

He shuffles his cards to hide his nervousness. "Maybe you could just stay, non?"

Rogue shifts her head in his lap and looks up. "Like move in?"

He takes a breath, continues threading those spades through his fingers. "Oui."

But then she smiles, and his hands fall still as his world shrinks to the most belle green eyes he has ever seen.

"I'd like that," she whispers. Her hand slides upward to wrap gently around his neck. She guides his head down to hers and her kiss.

* * *

A/N: As a small note, I'm doing major things to my website, www. whispersandstories. weebly. com. Let me know if you like it and if there's anything you want to see on there, etc. I'm still in the middle of the muck, but I'm in enough to start having a feel for what I'm doing.

Also, running a poll on my profile. I personally love The Burning story arc, even if I'm it, but I want to see what everyone else likes. And I desperately need to wrap some up, but we're working on that.

Thanks, all!


	15. Brush

A/N: Put this back exactly the way it is, instead of editing it further. Going to see about adding something new soon. Thanks for everyone who reviewed the first time: you don't have to rereview as there really aren't any changes.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Brush**

* * *

****It's the little touches that mean so much to Rogue. Her hand clinging warmly to his. A light kiss. Her head against his shoulder. All the time she's spent waiting for mere possibilities have made them so significant for her, now that she can.

She surprises him with moments where skin brushes skin and her eyes brighten on his.

It's the little touches that mean so much.

* * *

Laughter echoes through the mansion's kitchen. The smell of Remy's cooking has become famous enough around here to drag more people out of bed than he'd rather cook for, but he merely nods when Sam enters to settle next to Lorna on a barstool and asks for "a mess o' whateva' that stuff is." Bobby even manages to be polite long enough to beg a plate.

"And what is on the menu for today?" Hank asks speculatively, peering over the counter and his medical journal.

"Breakfast," Remy quips.

Jubilee readily fills in the gap. "He's got beignets and eggs and bacon and something absolutely amazing in the eggs—"

"Dey're called vegetables." Remy rolls his eyes.

Allison snickers.

Jubilee merely glares and continues as if she was never interrupted. "—and he put in toast for Lorna and coffee's on and how do you take it?"

Hank eyes the brew. "Is that whole milk I perceive?"

Logan grins from his own black coffee. "No skim for Ororo."

"I should think not," she snaps, but a smile cracks the severe expression.

Remy hands over the milk, still stirring eggs with one hand. "Pour for y'self."

"Well, what do we have heah?" an amused southern drawl interjects suddenly.

Remy looks up and drinks in the first sight of his chère for the morning. Rogue has her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail and her white streaks framing her face. She's dressed for the occasion, work clothes, and he does like to see her in a tank top and those bare arms and shoulders. Her eyes laugh at him, and both hands are on her hips.

"Can't keep ya out of trouble, Ah see." She slides up behind him and wraps both arms around his waist. "Whatcha cookin'?" she whispers.

"Whatever y' want, chérie." She feels good pressed up against him, and her scent like lavender and soap and something warm and just her washes over him.

Her emerald eyes sparkle as she brushes the hair from his eyes, grazing his skin with her fingertips. He stares at her, wishing she wouldn't do that. It makes him want to haul her into some dark corner and kiss her senseless.

"Ya think ya can get mah desk out of mah room, swamp rat?"

"Oui."

"Where ya movin' it?" Sam asks. "Maybe I can help."

Rogue turns wickedly on the room and Remy considers very seriously clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Remy's room," she says and promptly winks at Remy one last time before sashaying on out.

More than one face stares at Remy, startled.

"Y' hungry or not?" he demands, and everyone goes back to whatever they were doing.

He sighs. They would've found out anyway.

* * *

"Y' crazy, girl," Remy admonishes the green-eyed wench, lugging her box of books. "What in de world did y' do dat for?"

"What?" Rogue asks, arching one brow. "Tell them we're movin' in togethah?"

Sam and Piotr studiously ignore the conversation, though Kitty is clearly snickering at his discomfort from where she's stripping the bed.

Just about the entire household has offered to assist in moving Rogue into Remy's room, more likely from an interest in the situation than any particularly generous or charitable feelings. They turned down all but their closer friends. Remy would've liked to leave Kitty out too, but Rogue has been a regular player today and simply informed him in a breathy whisper too close to his ear not to bother arguing about it.

Naturally, he didn't.

"Do I need to fold these, Rogue, or will you actually be needing them?" Kitty asks, tone utterly innocent.

Remy glares at her and holds the door open for Rogue.

"Fold 'em, sugah." Rogue brushes past him, making contact body to body and that smooth skin against his arm. Then she's past and casting a wicked grin over her shoulder.

Remy curses softly.

* * *

"Looks like that's the last of it," Lorna announces and then appraises the room critically, hands on her hips. "You might want to see if 'Ro will let you have a bigger room.

Remy shrugs from the desk chair and Lorna turns to Rogue, who's humming lightly while hanging her clothes on the empty side of the walk-in closet.

"It seems a little small for two people," Lorna points out, somewhat dubiously.

Rogue pokes her head out of the closet. Remy eyes down her long legs. She wore shorts today and has already kicked off the socks and shoes she came in with. She looks around before smiling at Remy. "Can't imagine bein' anywhere else, sugah," she says softly.

Their eyes meet.

Whatever Lorna says after that is known only to the walls.

* * *

"Remy!" Rogue huffs loudly. "Ah'm trahin' ta get dressed, or did ya forget we've got a mission to do?" A green-eyed glare punctuates this last in the mirror.

He merely chuckles and brushes back the hair on her neck to get in one last kiss before she resorts to physical measures.

"Remy..."

"More like a date." He slips away from her to finish buttoning his collar while eyeing the closet hangers for the right tie.

"Wear the blue one," Rogue suggests. "And it's not a date. It's a mission."

Remy glances back at her, taking in the sweep of blue evening dress and pulls down the blue tie. "T'ink dat's a good idea."

"Glad ta hear it," she fires back. Somehow she took personal insult when Kitty suggested that Remy pick her clothes for the charity banquet. As if a guy is allowed to have the better fashion sense.

Warren Worthington III, otherwise known as Angel, offered the X-Men five invitations to his family's annual "PR event," as he called it, in order to pick up some information on rumors of antimutant Presidential wannabe's and also to provide some good PR for the mutants themselves. Ororo finally settled on Hank, herself, Remy, Rogue, and Logan to go. Remy figures Ororo's banking on Hank's government position and academic clout to keep him in good standing despite his appearance, and she needs Logan's ears, so settled for putting him on his best behavior for the event. Rogue and Remy were a bit of a different choice, and Warren was actually surprised when Ororo suggested him. Remy tries not to let it rankle, but he smugly enjoyed Angel's reaction when Ororo told him Remy's father is one of the oldest of the old wealth in New Orleans and patriarch of the LeBeau family.

Remy finishes with his tie, giving it a sharp tug. "Ready?"

Rogue stares at him for a long moment. Her mouth opens slightly, then she shuts it again. "Sure, sugah. Just let me get mah wrap."

It's a short walk to the elevator, but somewhere along the way, Remy suddenly feels her fingers brush against his hand and twine with his. She leans against him after they step inside.

"What's wrong?"

"Not'in'." Remy looks away over her head.

"Hm." She presses a little closer and it's impossible to ignore her when she smells so good and feels so right in his arms.

He sighs and holds her possessively. "Jus' miss de famille, neh?"

"Ya haven't told me much about them," she says softly.

"Guess we'll have t' change dat," he replies, grinning, keeping it light.

Rogue turns abruptly, one hand on his chest. "Ya will?" Her voice is very quiet, as if she knows _why_ he's kept those memories tucked away and never pulls them down to look at them.

The elevator dings.

"Only for y'," he whispers and leans forward to brush a kiss against her mouth.

Logan's growl is the first thing he hears when the elevator opens.

* * *

The whole banquet Rogue keeps _touching_ him. Remy's more than frustrated by the time the evening's winding down to a close. They know hardly anything more than they did before, just that some Graydon Creed hopeful thinks he's qualified for more than a Senate seat, and there's Rogue's coy, wicked smiles curving back at him from this or that group of women that always seem to have lost her by the time he comes over to drag her away.

Then there are all those tantalizing moments when he feels the brush of her skin, smells her lavendar shampoo and soft perfume, and she's gone again, laughing to talk to somebody else Warren or Ororo or Hank wants her to meet.

He catches Logan's amused smirk from the corner of his eye and goes to hunt the girl down.

Remy finally finds her coming out of the ladies room.

"Time ta go?" she queries, eyebrow raised.

"Chère, y' a bad, bad girl," he says roughly, pulling her into his arms, holding tight, not content with these brushes and whispered touches.

She laughs and checks his chin for stubble. "Ah'll take that as a no," she whispers huskily against his face, and then she's slipped away before he can figure out how in the world she does it.


	16. Exchange

**A/N:** At last, at last. Third major overhaul of the draft and at last, something I think works.

Thank you to all my reviewers. I'm not even going to try to reply to everyone this chapter, but next chapter I will. I'm grateful to each one of you for putting up with my extended hiatuses. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Exchange**

* * *

Remy sits at the front of a room full of preteens, wondering briefly to himself how in the world he ended up here of all places, teaching of all things. "Can anyone tell me where Tunisia is?" he asks aloud.

A bright, cheery young cyberpath in the front row raises her hand.

"'Chelle?"

"North of Cape Cod," she offers.

He blinks at her and restrains himself from banging his head on the desk. "No. Can anyone tell me what continent Cape Cod is part of?"

"Isn't it in Africa?" Freddy Lewis asks. "I mean, we're studying Africa."

"No, it's in Florida, dummy," another student volleys back.

Remy tries not to grit his teeth and feels some empathy for all the times his Tante Mattie threw up her hands and declared, _From the stupidity of youth, good Lord, preserve us!_

With a sigh, he stands, turns to the chalkboard, and pulls down the map of Africa again, effectively muting the muttered disagreements of the class as they give him their attention. They aren't the only ones though. A chill crawls up his spine and all of his muscles tense, ready to run. He keeps his voice calm and talks them through the major countries and landmarks of the African content again, then turns back to the class and is pleased to see the worst of the budding geographers are taking notes. He doesn't make an issue of it, but he glances in the doorway to make sure there aren't any threats.

It's Callisto. She is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him intently and ignoring the students.

He tilts his head at her, asking with his expression what she's doing, but she simply stares impassively back from her one good eye. He glances up at the clock. Fifteen minutes before the bell will ring.

"All right, class." He smiles disarmingly and a few of the more perceptive start groaning. "Y' get t' go early today, but." He draws out the word long enough for the less perceptive to start groaning too. "Y've got pages 41 through 49 in y'r workbook as homework, d'accord? Anyone gets less than 75% on their grade tomorrow, an' all o' us goin' t' sit through dis lesson again. Class dismissed."

A veritable roar of grumbling and growling ensues, coupled with the slamming of textbooks and chairs and the pounding of feet as the students rush out the door and complain about the few people dumb enough to show off their failure to study during class time. Remy may be a fair favorite with the good students of 'Mutant High,' but he treats them like his own famille treated him: he brooks no slacking and won't let a student skate by on cramming.

He shakes his head at the departing mass. "Kids." Then his gaze returns to Callisto. He does not bother to hide the shrewd suspicion in his eyes. There's no way she could have missed it anyway. "C'n I help y?" That d— tell. His accent still thickens when he's bothered by something.

But Callisto doesn't know that, and her face turns softer rather than harder as he expected. "I wanted to thank you," she states abruptly, as if it's awkward to say it.

He blinks at her. "Porquoi?"

"I don't speak French," she deadpans, "but if you're wondering why, it's really vicarious." A small smile. "Sarah's doing well."

His gut clenches and he only now realizes he's still tense. It's the last thing in the world he expected her to say. Sarah. Remy reels mentally from the very idea. Sarah, the little girl with the pink hair and the bones growing out of her skin. The one child he'd stolen from the Morlock Massacre and kept alive until she could return to her people. He nods, as if a map of memory isn't racing through his mind and heart. "She is, is she?"

"Yes." Abruptly, Callisto spins on her heel and leaves.

Remy doesn't know what to make of it, so he makes nothing, just slowly gathers his teacher's books and slowly steps out into the hall. He needs to compute it, but he's not sure it's a good time for that, especially not with the two men joining him before he has a chance to go more than a foot.

Sam flanks him on one side and Piotr on the other. Remy listens to Sam's surprisingly steady stream of conversation about everything from dinner tonight to Jubilee. Pause there.

"What can Ah do ta get her attention?" Sam asks.

Remy laughs, forces himself to relax, but continues walking briskly toward the dorms—and the room he shares with Rogue. "Y' could try sayin' hello."

"Remy." Sam's exasperation doesn't stop him from speeding up to keep up with Remy.

"He has a point," Piotr admonishes.

Sam groans. "Y'all are no help. No help at all."

They walk in silence a little further. Almost there, Remy thinks.

"I was wondering if you had any ideas for a gift for Kitty," Piotr says slowly, changing the subject.

Remy gives him a surprised double-take. "Dat girl's dead gone on y'. Don't matter what y' pick, she'll love it."

Sam chuckles in agreement.

But Piotr's expression is pained. "Do you think she'll be offended if I paint her?"

Suddenly, Remy gets it. He nods thoughtfully. "I'll ask Rogue." This is serious to Piotr, so Remy treats it accordingly.

"Rogue and Katya are good friends," Piotr comments, clearly content with the answer.

"Very good," Remy agrees and takes the opportunity to open hi— their door. "And now—"

"Almost think y'all were running away from us," Sam teases.

"Good night." Remy grins and closes the door.

He turns around and there she is. Rogue is lying on her stomach on the bed, grading papers. "It's official," she announces, as if she knew he was coming in. "Ah hate English. Ah've seen way too many examples today of how bein' a native speaker doesn't make a kid fluent." She sighs in frustration and blows a white lovelock out of her eyes.

Remy grins, kicks off his shoes, and clambers up on the bed beside her. He tucks one arm over her and kisses her just below her ear. She makes a small sound of pleasure, and he kisses her again.

"I know what y' mean," he comments, thinking of Tunisia and Cape Cod.

She tosses her pen on her books on the chest and rolls over to take him in her embrace. "Do ya?" But her mind is elsewhere. He can almost see her thoughts spinning behind those bright green eyes.

She gives one of those longsuffering sighs that implies he's the one missing the obvious and clambers off the bed to dim the lights. "Ya ain't goin' anywhere," she says matter-of-factly. "We agreed ya were goin' ta tell me about your family."

That gives him pause.

"Tonight?"

She arches one eyebrow and proceeds to snuggle in on the bed before giggling at the expression on his face. "What? Sorry ya ain't goin' ta win away Bobby's entire month's worth of candy?"

Remy wisely refrains from answering directly. "S'pose I can't complain." And really, how can he with her warmth pressed against him and her desire to actually _be_ with him? It never ceases to amaze him that she'd rather turn down almost anyone else's companionship, even her girlfriends, if it means spending time with him. "Y're amazin', y' know dat?" he asks her thickly.

"A little besahde the point." But she cuddles in closer and a small pleased smile lifts her mouth. "Ah'll start."

He leans his head against hers and lets her warm southern drawl wash over him.

"Mah first memories are always of mah mama," she begins matter-of-factly. "She's the one that actually cared about me and wanted a little girl, so she was always the one takin' care of me and makin' sure Ah got fed and such. Mah favorite thing was when she'd let me pick out any story from the big book of fairy tales and then read it ta me until Ah fell asleep."

"What was y'r favorite?" He nuzzles her neck, thinking of all the stories he's ever heard and how similar but different they are. He never particularly liked hearing Guild prophecies to go to sleep by.

Rogue stays quiet for a spell, thinking. Finally, she answers. "Beauty and the Beast."

His fingers move absently down her arm until he hears her breath catch a little and then he kisses the top of her head. "Tell me more."

"Ah think the part Ah lahked best 'bout Cody is he was always trahin' ta be a gentleman—and failin' miserably." A small giggle. "One tahme, he was maybe thirteen and he dressed up in his pa's dress suit ta trah and impress me."

"What? Dat didn't win y' heart?" he teases.

Her shoulders shake with her mirth and there's a bright sparkle in her eye. "Ya should've seen him, Remy. He looked terrible!"

Remy imagines a thirteen year old in his père's dress clothes—more like remembers his own attempt at filling out a grown man's clothes before he'd shot up—and shakes his head. "Probably not half as bad as de suit."

More giggles. Remy cranes his head to look at her. Rogue doesn't giggle often. He smiles at the childlike playfulness in her agreement.

"His mama 'bout tanned his hahde foh the mud he got on it."

* * *

Rogue has an innocence Remy's fairly certain he lost ages ago—if he ever had it in the first place. Abandoned at birth because of his devil eyes, raised on the streets by whatever protection he could cobble together by showing his belly to, thieving and pickpocketing just to survive, Remy has never had the luxury of innocence. He listens to her childhood memories, the good times she used to have, and he finds himself wishing he could relate to it beyond in his dreams.

Somewhere in the telling, Rogue falters and curls her fingers around his protectively. She silently asks him with her eyes what's wrong, and he shrugs one shoulder as if it doesn't matter.

"Sounds nice, chère."

The air hums with tension in her pause, but she doesn't let go and he wonders at how much solidarity he can feel through just her hand holding to his.

"So," she begins slowly, "did you have good memories growing up?"

Her phrasing hits him harder than it should. How can he answer that without getting in too deep? Then again, he's already that.

Remy tugs her closer and tucks her back in beside him. It's always easier to talk when he can hold onto something, preferably her. "Grew up 'fore I had a fam'ly."

Rogue stares at him, listening so completely it makes him wish he could take back the words and brush them back under the carpet. Instead he pauses, sighs. "It weren't pretty."

"So?" she asks quietly, and he hears her quiet sass in the declaration. It is a declaration. She doesn't care, no more than Bella had.

Dieu, this woman makes less sense to him than his own train wreck of a life. Rogue can hear something like the Morlock Massacre and see a man struggling to find some goodness in himself. She can look into the demon eyes that earned him prophecies heaped upon his head, curses from the mouths above their crucifixes, and call them beautiful.

"Chère, y'crazy," he murmurs against her hair, but he tells her. He tells her about Fagan and the street gang that let him keep the scraps of his own work in exchange for a place to sleep. He tells her that he's never known what it means to be innocent and watches the pain flicker in her eyes. "M' famille saved me," he says simply, and maybe she really does understand what he means now when he says it. Jean-Luc LeBeau took him away from the living nightmare and gave him a home.

* * *

"He did not!" Rogue demands with wide eyes.

Remy laughs, warming to his story. "So Emil tells us he's goin' t' get himself a cookie—_after_ Tante Mattie tol' us she catch anyone swipin' one wit'out her permission was goin' t' regret it. An' o' course, he did."

Telling Rogue stories beats any bedtime tradition he ever had, except perhaps...

"Y' know, I didn't believe it at first," he admits for the first time in his life. Remy hates admitting weaknesses. "I had a home. Ev'ry night, I'd stay 'wake as long as I could, waitin', holdin' my breat' sometimes. Every time, Jean-Luc would come sneakin' down d' hall and check in on m'." Every night until it finally sunk into Remy's ten-year-old brain that he had a père.

Rogue is quiet as he remembers, then she leans her head on his shoulder. "Y'all still have a home."

He looks at her, pained. "'S a long way away," he whispers softly.

She hums thoughtfully, accepts that. "Yeah, it is."

Her own gaze is lost in memory and it makes him ask her, "Y' ever miss home?"

An awkward laugh, a shift of her fingers on his. She shakes her head. "It's weird, Ah guess, but Ah can't go back. They wouldn't—" She shakes her head again, without the words to convey.

It hits him like a slam in the gut. "Your mutation." He can't quite keep the anger from his voice.

Rogue's eyes flick to his. "Yes," she says evenly. "My mutation." Ellis Island. Magneto. Her own protector nearly dead at her hands if it weren't for his healing factor. The voices that haunt her yet and changed her. "You _left_, Remy," she says fiercely. "When you went level five on them and could have killed them all with a look,"—it takes his breath away, she can say it so easily—"they didn't kick you out, but you _wouldn't_ stay."

He fists his hand in her white hair, holds tight at what she's saying.

"Oh, Remy, _don't."_ She turns in his arms and wraps her arms around his neck to kiss him. "It's okay. I wanted this. I want them safe."

Memory has haunted their steps in so many ways, hers in more ways than he'd first imagined, and somehow it makes sense now that she understands how the best of intentions can go so terribly wrong. Somehow, the horror of their memories fades in these simple, quiet exchanges.

* * *

**A/N:** So I've been busy—on original fiction. Sorry for the horrendously long wait. I do apologize. This chapter was an exercise in regaining my fanfic voice, so if it's not quite right, I also apologize. If you want to prompt fanfic or original fiction, please check out my lianamir dot com website, where I'm running a 365 Challenge, in which I write 365 pieces of fiction and poetry, fanfic included. That's keeping me busy, so fanfic updates may be sporadic. I'm hoping to start being more regular again though.

:hugs:


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